


The spark that can't be contained

by aaronze



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, M/M, Magic, Pre-Season/Series 01, Season 01 rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronze/pseuds/aaronze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' mother has just passed away, but didn't get a chance to tell Stiles what he is, or what he's destined to be. Stiles will have to learn on his own and hope he can figure it all out before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The event that was not to be named

**Author's Note:**

> Archive warnings are spoilers, if there are any warnings relevant to each chapter they will be listed in the notes at the end.

It all started when he was 10.

It had barely been a week since the tragic death of his mother and he was still getting the same nightmare every night. Stiles didn't understand why his mother had to die, it was so unfair. Even though only one of his parents died that summer's day, it definitely felt like he lost both of them. When the Sheriff wasn't drowning himself in his work, he was drowning himself into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.

Every night in his sleep he would revisit that awful day at the hospital. He would be sitting by his mother as the doctor's tried to revive her fading heartbeat. When it was all finally over there was a flux of emotions that poured through his head. First anger at the cruelty of the universe, slipping into a dull ache of loss. There was a soft thrum of relief, not only for his mother to leave the world and all her pain, but for himself and his father. She had been sick for just over a year and it had been a small relief when it was finally over.

The surge of emotions finally rested on guilt. Stiles knew that somehow he was the reason his mother wasn't getting better. The doctor's couldn't explain it, there was no disease, no infection. No cancer or other problems with her. Yet day after day her condition continued to deteriorate. He knew his father was putting on a brave front for his son's benefit, but every time those cold eyes finally rested onto Stiles, he could feel it. His father blamed him too.

There was another surge that Stiles felt as his mother finally drifted into eternal slumber, but it wasn't an emotion. It was hard to place, there was something, somewhere. Not so much the back of his mind, but in the far corner of his soul. He remembered that it started that night too, a humming sensation that he couldn't quite place in his body or reach with his mind. It didn't matter though, there were far more important things that Stiles felt, and beyond trying to place one foot after another to keep walking forward through his life he really didn't have the energy to do anything else.

***

A week later and he finally gave in to the incessant knocking at the front door.

"STILES! STIIIIIILES!" yelled a frustrated voice.

Groaning as he tossed of his comforter and pulled some pants on, he started the arduous journey to the front door.

The knocking got louder and the voice didn't waver once as it continued to demand Stiles attention. He dragged his feet slowly shuffling to the front door. He released a heavy sigh as he unbolted the lock and opened the door.

Standing there on the porch was a seriously angry Scott. His medium length black locks of hair were ruffled as if he only got out of bed himself. He was breathing heavily, obviously exhausted from the attack on the door. For the young age of 10 he was already too big for his body, already a half foot taller then Stiles and showing no signs of stopping. He was always stumbling over everything and falling off his bike at every opportunity. 

Stiles glanced over to the right, sure enough, there's Scott's bike sat in all its red shining glory. A shiny new 6 speed bike that was Scott's pride and joy. A recent birthday present from his Dad, compensation for a really bad fight over responsibility or something. 

Scott narrowed his eyes at Stiles, as if contemplating how to be angry and sorry for his mother's loss at the same time. He seemed to figure it out after a few seconds and simply said:

"Dude!"

Stiles was suitably unimpressed. He rolled his eyes and turned around. There was really no point in trying to fight off Scott's presence any longer. Better this then trying to get up to his second floor window again - that was a disaster of epic proportions, and led to even more arguments with Scott's dad, not that the man needed any reason to yell at Scott.

Stiles started making his way to the stairs as Scott just watched his progress dumbstruck. After a good minute when Stiles was already up the stairs and almost in his room, Scott suddenly sprang to life as if realising just how angry he was at his so called bro-for-life and ran up the stairs to Stiles' room slamming the front door behind him as he went. The door's almighty bang startled Scott, but his new purpose in life drove him forward. He was gonna make Stiles pay!

All of his earlier motivation died instantly upon seeing his bro-for-life curled in his bed, in the fetal position. Slowly, and almost imperceptibly rocking. No matter how angry he was, seeing his best friend in a state that was completely and utterly wrecked just cut into him like a knife. No one should have to feel that way.

Scott knew then there was only one thing he could do for his best and only friend. He closed Stiles' door gently, locked it and crawled into bed behind Stiles. It was a bit weird, sure they had woken up snuggled together after a sleepover and since he was a good half-foot taller he was always cuddling Stiles up behind him. He figured that this would be kinda the same thing, this is what Stiles needed, not angry words or meaningless sympathies. Just a bro-hug to show him that he wasn't alone and had someone that he could talk to, when he needed to.

They stayed like that for hours, Scott's arms cradling Stiles as they both silently laid there. Finally he heard the unmistakeable sounds of his friend sobbing and his shoulders shaking. He reached over and gently grabbed Stiles other arm and pulled gently, encouraging Stiles to turn around on the small twin bed to look at Scott. Their eyes met, Scott's sad eyes looking into puffy red eyes and Scott reached around and pulled him in for a hug, tucking his chin over Stiles' head, resting in his buzz-cut hair, allowing the distraught boy to cry into his chest.

The crying finally settled a half hour later and Stiles pulled back from Scott and placed his head alongside his friend, their faces just a short distance away. They stared into each others eyes, Scott trying to project 'It will be okay, I'm here, I'll keep you safe, I will always be here for you' into his eyes. Suddenly something happened that Scott did not expect, he was stunned by it, not even registering the event, unable to react as Stiles leaned in slowly, not once breaking eye contact. Scott's brain froze as he watched his best friend softly place his lips upon his and pressed in. 

The whole event suddenly sped up in his head as his brain finally caught up to the understanding of what had just happened. Stiles had just kissed him. And he was still kissing him. As the horror of the event finally reached his brain Scott jolted back, intending to only to break the kiss and avoid further problems, but as he pulled back too fast, the small twin-sized bed worked to his disadvantage as he clumsily fell on the floor in a tangle of limbs. 

Scrambling up from the floor he caught a glimpse of his friend, looking confused and baffled himself at the turn of events. They both stayed where they were, afraid to make the first move, Scott halfway between sitting and standing, staring at Stiles who was just laying there staring back as if trying to work out what had just happened. 

Desperate to say something to remove the tension, Scott tried fumbling for some words, any words, but no matter how long he spent trying to find anything for the current situation nothing came out. He must of looked ridiculous, opening and closing his mouth like a fish trying to breathe the air. Thankfully, before the staring contest could last longer then 10 minutes, a door slamming shut downstairs brought them both out of their stupor.

"Stiles!" A deep voice called from downstairs.

"I brought home some take-away, come down before it gets cold."

The voice stalled for a few seconds before adding:

"Scott, you can have some too if you want."

Finally brought out of their mutual staring contest, both boys realised how hungry they were, having spent the most of the afternoon on the bed together. They walked downstairs and they silently and mutually agreed that the kiss between them wasn't to be spoken of again. 

Their friendship suffered nothing from the event that was not to be named, in fact they were inseparable from that moment onwards. 'Joined at the hip' Melissa would tell him. They had shared something between them that could have done nothing but brought them closer together.


	2. The oddity of the curly haired boy

As Stiles opened his eyes to the blinding light, he gave a quick reflection on how good it would be to stay in his bed forever, before he realized… Today is his birthday!

His 15th birthday to be more precise.

As in, he was turning 15, today. Which is awesome.

Muttering out a few garbled words of self-support as he rose from his bed, grudgingly pulling off the warm comforter. Snatching his brick of a phone from his bedside table he checked his messages. Nothing. Which wasn’t at all surprising, really. Scott was never a morning person nor an early riser. Only Stiles would ever be awake and alert at - glancing at the clock - 7:30 in the morning.

Firing off a simple smiley face to his best friend he put down the phone, gathered some clothes for the day - a pair of loose jeans, mud caked sneakers, spider-man boxers, two plaid shirts of mismatching colors and a black hoodie - he crept silently to the bathroom. His dad would be coming out of a double shift and would easily be asleep until early afternoon.

Getting under the shower and feeling the tension roll off his body as the warm droplets cascaded over him. Feeling relaxed and peaceful, as he washed himself and started his morning routine with the all too important Stiles-Time.

Feeling content after his private moment, he got dressed and made his way downstairs, grabbing his phone and bag from his room. Wolfing down some cereal, he saw the time - 8:00. He rushed out the house and down the street to where the school bus was parked. Main, he couldn’t wait until he could get his driver’s license. His dad had promised him the jeep in return for his continuing good grades. And - luckily - he had almost perfect grades.

Climbing into the bus and taking his usual seat near the back, he got out his phone again to note that there were no new messages from Scott. Baffled at the lack of communication from his best friend, Stiles resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t find out why Scott wasn’t replying to him until he sees him at school. 

It’s not like he’s disappointed or anything. Nope. Not at all. Just, you know, best buds are supposed to remember each other’s birthdays and send them messages. Maybe Scott was just annoyed at being beat at Call of Duty again. Yeah, that was probably it.

Gazing out the window and daydreaming, feeling this small rock in his stomach as he mulled over his friend’s silence. He thought about the past year and how close he and Scott had become. If Stiles wasn’t at Scott’s house, then Scott was at his. Always playing Call of Duty or Battlefield or Halo until midnight or until one of their parents were knocking on the door, ordering them to go to bed.

They still slept in separate beds mostly, there definitely hadn’t been a repeat of the event that was not to be named. It came close once, when Stiles had accidentally fallen asleep in Scott’s bed at 2 am. He had woken up with Scott snuggling around him, his arm and leg draped over Stiles’ body. Their faces inches from each other. Still hazy from sleep, Stiles felt this odd feeling as though he wanted to get closer, but closer would mean they were practically kissing, and that didn’t make any sense - why would he want that?

Ripped from his daydreaming as the bus lurched to a stop outside the school, Stiles cast his eyes over the front grounds, searching for signs of Scott’s faded-red bike. Which - odd - wasn’t to be found at all. Fishing his phone from his pocket, Stiles tapped out a quick ‘you okay dude?’ and stepped off the bus, heading to his locker.

As he progressed through his morning classes, he started feeling worse and worse, checking his phone every 10 minutes for any sign of life. He finally conceded defeat of Scott responding and stared moodily out the window. Of course that had to be in Chemistry, with Harris.

“Stilinski!”

Stiles reeled around to face the interrupting entity, staring directly at Mr Harris.

“What?” snapped Stiles. And oops, he didn’t mean for his mood to show through so clearly.

Harris raised a single unimpressed eyebrow, as he contemplated what to give Stiles detention for this time. Apparently in one of his best moods of his life - or maybe just enjoying the foul mood that Stiles was in, he let it go with a simple “Focus”.

The bell for lunch signaled just 10 minutes later and Stiles made his way to the lunchroom. Grabbing his lunch from the line, he mused over where to sit. Normally he and Scott had their own table, but theirs was currently occupied by a couple of kids who looked like they thought the Hipster look would make them look cool.

Sighing as he passed over the rest of the room, looking for an empty table and not finding one, he settled on a table with a single kid sitting on it. Deciding that that was the best he was going to get for now, he marched over and plopped down on the other side of the table.

Finally getting a good look at this kid, he saw golden-brown curls and deep blue eyes. His soft and puppy-dog face was currently scrunched up into fear, his eyes darting to Stiles and then around the room - looking for an exit or retreat. Why was this kid so afraid of Stiles?

Pointing to himself with one free hand, he said “Stiles”.

Isaac seemed to make up his mind at that point, mumbling a quick “sorry” before picking up his tray and racing out of the room like the demons of hell were on his tail. Reflecting on this peculiar behaviour, Stiles thought that whilst the situation was odd, at least now he had his table all to himself, so he shrugged and continued eating.

***

The rest of the day passed slowly, with a little bubble of anger and hurt growing every time Stiles looked at his phone and saw that - yet again - he still had no new messages. Not one person in the entire school had even looked his way, let alone wished him a happy birthday. 

Passing unnoticed would be one thing, but Stiles had also received his fair share of taunts and jabs during Lacrosse practice for being ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic’. Sure he was clumsy, and counted every 10 minutes on the field without falling over and creating a new bruise as a win, but that didn’t give the other kids the right to make fun of him for it.

There was only a handful of the players who didn’t seem to be actively participating in making Stiles’ life a living hell. He saw them and placed them to names in his head. There was Danny, the goalie. Over there next to the bench was Greenburg. Greenburg was probably happy that someone - for once - was under performing him and being the target of the taunts.

Finally his eyes rested on the final person, it was that curly haired puppy dog from Lunch. That’s odd, since when did this guy play on the lacrosse team? Stiles resolved to find out this random kid’s name, and maybe even thank him for not being an active participant. Though that thought sounded pretty stupid - and morose - in his head.

Coach Finstock finally yelled for practice to be over, and Stiles made his way slowly to the changing rooms, hoping that the rest of the players would have finished changing and left if he walked slowly enough. He had no such luck, though thankfully the majority of the team seemed far busier changing and going home then in making more jabs at him, or maybe they had finally run out of different ways to rephrase the same insult - bullies really are unimaginative.

Stiles’ eyes fell upon the curly haired boy he saw earlier, and he watched with horror as the boy quickly ripped off his top before replacing it with another. Half of his torso was covered in different shades of blue, purple and black spots - bruises. They could almost be mistaken for lacrosse bruises, but as a collector of lacrosse bruises himself, he could tell that they weren’t. What the hell was this kid up to? What could he be doing to get himself bruised up like that? Maybe he was the kind to pick fights? That seemed unlikely however, considering how the guy practically fled at lunch.

Maybe he has bullies of his own then, mused Stiles. But if it was reaching this point of physical harm, why had he not come forward sooner to say something? Some of those bruises looked to be a week old, while others looked so new, that they could have been from yesterday. This kid had serious problems if he didn’t have the guts to go to his parents for help.

As soon as the kids had shuffled off, leaving Stiles alone in the locker, he resumed his changing and gathered his stuff, checking his phone again. Still nothing. Well that settles it, Stiles thought, he was going to go over there and give him a piece of his mind! What the hell kind of best friend ignores the other on their birthday all day?

Standing out the front of the school, waiting for his dad to pick, he kept going through scenarios in his head about why Scott was ignoring him. It wasn’t like him to do things like this, but Stiles couldn’t help the anger as it built. It seemed like nothing mattered anymore but yelling at Scott.

The Sheriff pulled up in front of him in his cruiser, and he clambered in the passenger side, limbs flailing everywhere as usual. As he finally settled in the seat, his dad looks over at him with a chuckle and a fondness in his eyes as he says ‘Happy birthday son’. 

Stiles attempted a half-smile and muttered a thanks as he gazed angrily out the window.

“Can you drop me off at Scott’s tonight?” asked Stiles.

The sheriff leveled him a curious look - normally Stiles spent his birthday with him. Still, he figured it must be important to Stiles, and it is his birthday to spend as he wishes.

“Sure thing son, I’ll pop in round 7 with some dinner, okay?”

“Sounds great dad” said Stiles, managing an even smile this time.

As his dad parked in front of the McCall residence he wished Stiles a good afternoon, and Stiles clambered out, muttering a few fake-swears as he conked his head on the door frame.

After watching his dad drive off and waving a goodbye, Stiles directed his anger towards the house in front of him. Walking towards the front door, Stiles noted that the car was gone, Melissa must be at work. 

At the front door, Stiles balled his hands into fists and knocked - loudly - a few times. He stood there, waiting, tapping his foot impatiently with no answer for 10 minutes. He let out an angry growl and stalked his way over to the back porch.

Spending only a few seconds to consider how stupid many of his ideas are, and how they always seem to end badly, but then going ahead anyway, he climbed up the side of the house, heading towards Scott’s bedroom window. 

Finally finishing the journey upwards, panting out of breath, he stepped to the side to get a look inside Scott’s window when all of a sudden someone let out a short scream inside.

It was Scott!

Scott was in trouble!


	3. The sea of darkness

Stiles’ heart stopped when he heard Scott’s scream. A second later it started again and pumped blood furiously through his body. The blood rushed through his ears as he was flushed with adrenaline. 

Racing forward, he yanked open Scott’s bedroom window and quickly ducked inside. Landing - somewhat surprisingly - on the floor perfectly, in a defensive crouch, ready to wage war against whatever threatened Scott. He quickly scanned his eyes through the room, finding Scott quickly, standing on his bed. There was a deep seated fear and terror in his eyes as he looked at the monster.

A spider.

Not even an adult spider, a small, daddy long legs spider just minding its own business, scaling up the wall next to Scott’s bed. Scott turned his frightened eyes to Stiles, and they widened even further. 

“Seriously man, a spider?”

“Shut up! It’s big and hairy and oh-my-god - it’s coming towards me” Scott said as he leapt off the bed, towards the protection of his friend. He hid behind Stiles, using him as a human shield.

Stiles sighed mournfully at the loss of his friend’s pride and manliness points. As the danger of the situation faded to the back of his mind, the anger and fury of his friend’s silence came to the front with a vengeance.

“YOU!” yelled Stiles, turning towards his best friend.

Scott cringed painfully, almost like he knew this conversation was coming. Which - he probably did.

Stiles felt a bubble of anger rise to the surface. Trying desperately to control it and reign it in, Stiles pushed it back down, feeling not for the first time, a flash of something. He would identify whatever it was that he felt, but he couldn’t place it. It was like that day at the hospital, something deep in his mind or body, somewhere. It was flaring to life right now.

A throbbing grew in his head, a pounding sensation. Like a headache but tensing all his muscles across his body painfully. He closed his eyes, trying to force his body to relax. A warm feeling blossomed from his gut and spread throughout his body. His fingertips started to feel tingly, as if ready to spark against a metal surface - like touching both sides of a battery.

His thoughts grew even more unfocused. Images of his day flashed before him, random segments. Focusing on one before jumping to the next. He saw flashes of people, images, feelings. It was driving him crazy, what was happening to him? The pain was building up to a pinnacle now, the warmth radiating towards a burning sensation that enveloped his body. He felt like he was on fire from the inside, ready to explode with energy.

Finally giving in to the pain, no longer able to muster the will to fight it, he opened his eyes ready to let loose a scream of pain - that was immediately halted by what he saw.

If he wasn’t in so much pain he might have been more appreciative of the beauty that his eyes saw around him. Nothing could have prepared him, it was purely stunning. Colours that he didn’t even knew existed were blooming, dodging and weaving between and around other colours. Objects were thrumming, dancing and singing in the light.

The door was a bright magenta, the handle radiating furiously with multiple tones of a pale blue. The walls were swirls of yellows and golds, lazily moving around threads of bright whites. The floor was a deep sea of red, waves rippling across the surface like raindrops. 

As he took in his best friend, he saw the most fascinating set of colours yet, his friend was a literal rainbow, colours joining and dancing together. Weaves of reds waving around like a hot summer’s day. A pool of orange was billowing like a flag in the winds of early fall. Bursts of whites and greens in random spots were almost blindingly bright.

After taking a deep breath, he finally let it out. He screamed. If he had the energy to hear himself he would’ve shuddered with it’s intensity. You could almost feel the anguish and torment in his wavering voice. As quickly as the scream emerged it stopped. The last thing Stiles saw was his best friend staring at him, mouth open in shock, several tears running down each cheek as though he could feel the pain that had befallen Stiles.

And then the world shrunk to black. Finally giving his over-exerted senses a chance to rest, a chance to recover. He almost felt dread about waking up, to wake up to the same blinding pain. But as his body crumpled to the floor the only thought he could muster was a vain hope that he wasn’t dead. 

*****

Stiles was swimming.

He was swimming in a sea of black, and dark, and thoughtlessness. 

He could hear voices in the dark. Far away voices that sound muffled, as if he were underwater. Which he supposes he actually is. Drowning in the ocean of nothingness. 

He couldn’t feel his body, or any of it’s senses. Didn’t feel the touches of his best friend, the paramedics, the doctors and nurses, his father’s comforting touches. Didn’t hear the voices, Scott’s frantic pleas, his father’s begs of mercy, shouts of rage and whispers of despair. He didn’t feel the cool air on his body as he was moved to the hospital, nor the soft air conditioned air filled with bleach. He couldn’t tell where he was, or what he was doing. No idea if he was sitting or standing, or even upside down.

The scariest part was that Stiles couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, or even alive. He only had guesswork at this point, and since he didn’t believe in the nonsense of ghost stories, he placed himself firmly in the ‘alive’ category. Because, let’s face it, even if he was dead, who would find out that he was wrong about that?

Maybe I’m in a coma, he figured. That one at least made sense. From his limited experiences he knew that coma patients - depending on their level of comatose - could receive various forms of sensory input. What he was confused about however, was how he could hear complex things like voices, and yet, figuring out if he was even breathing was still a mystery.

Not really having much else to do in the far reaches of his mind, he started exploring. Did the black sea go on forever, or was there something out there. Maybe he could finally find that impossible to locate thing he had carried with himself. What would it even look like? 

He moved around, testing the waters around him. He found himself able to go in different directions on the sea. Some paths were easier to move in, like currents gently guiding him. Some parts of the sea were warmer then others, comforting. Stiles moved away from the parts that were cold and unforgiving.

As he moved on and on, gently floating and relaxing in his sea of warmth the voices started to get fainter, harder to hear, more muffled and off. Like he was fading away, he thought. 

It only took a few seconds for him to realise that that’s what he’s doing, letting himself fade away peacefully. But he didn’t want that. Not really. He wanted to live. He thought of his options, he was so so tired, so exhausted, and what if he returned to the hell on the other side once he woke up?

He stopped moving forward as he had other thoughts. Thoughts of Scott and his crying face, whispering, begging, pleading for Stiles to be okay. He thought of his father, losing his only other family member, how would he survive on his own? He thought of the curly haired boy, all the bruises that enveloped his body. Someone had to be there for him too. His thoughts finally rested on his mother, and her last, dying words: “Be strong, don’t ever give up. I love you”.

That was it, that was all he needed to push forwards. Steeling himself in his sea of dark, he pushed and struggled into the colder streams. They no longer gently rocked him forwards, no they pushed him backwards. Trying to discourage him from his path. Stiles continued to struggle, continued to fight, using all the energy he had left to overcome his own dark and twisted mind.

It felt like he had been struggling for a lifetime, but slowly and surely the voices in his head became sharper and clearer. He could hear his father’s wailing crystal clear now. He could hear a doctor, with a neutral tone of voice, proclaiming him dead at 8:03 pm. 

No!

No, no, NO!

It can’t be, it’s not right, not fair. He kept pushing forwards, voices getting louder but there wasn’t any light for him. He still couldn’t feel his body, he kept pushing and yet they kept talking, the machine of his heart keeping it’s steady beeeeeeeeep of his lifeless body. 

Stiles was broken and crying now, still pushing frantically against the wall of sea in front of him. It was too much, it held him back completely - he couldn’t get through. He felt the touch of his father closing his eyes in finality.

Wait.

He. Felt. His. Father.

He. Felt. Something!

Still struggling, he used that feeling as an anchor to pull himself up and forwards. Finally breaking free of the wall of water, gasping for air as he finally broke the surface.

He was alive.


	4. Bro's for life

Stiles groaned.

It wasn’t the first time today he’d waken up to an obnoxious light in his eyes. He started to open his eyes, slowly, trying to adjust to the change in brightness. 

“Stiles!” spoke a voice - sounding oddly like his father.

“Scott,” spoke the voice again. “Get a nurse. He’s waking up.”

Stiles’ eyes had finally adjusted enough to see his father, looming over the side of the bed. Beneath the face of fake calm, there was fear. 

Stiles let out another groan as he faded back into his sleep. 

***

A short while later he started hearing the voices again.

“.. no idea .. angry .. ..ed screaming… whole room .. crazy”

Stiles groaned once more for good measure as he opened his eyes. This time they adjusted quickly. He could see his Father and Scott in the middle of a conversation - likely interrogation - at the foot of his bed. Both their heads snapped towards him as they registered his consciousness. 

“Hey, buddy” spoke Scott softly, carefully making his way over to Stiles’ right side.

“Stiles.” choked out his Father. Stunned for a moment before he too made his way over to the bed. Grabbing his hand in his, he said, “Thought we almost lost you there, kiddo”.

“What happened?” asked Stiles. His voice rough and hoarse.

The Sheriff frowned, then looked at Scott. They shared a look - since when did they share looks? Scott looked uncomfortable under the pressure.

“Dude, you’ve been in the hospital for weeks.”

Stiles was shocked. Weeks? It still felt like his birthday, how could he be missing weeks?

“What?!” exclaimed Stiles.

Stiles glanced to his Father, then to Scott, and back and forth, demanding that someone explain to him how he has spent weeks in the hospital. The Sheriff turned his head to the side, a sadness cracking his façade of calm. Blinking back tears he turned back to Stiles.

“They don’t know why. You were just… not getting better”.

Suddenly Stiles understood as everything snapped to focus. He’d gone through whatever his Mother had gone through all those years ago. First she had screamed, collapsed. Her heart had stopped, but she had recovered from that, just like Stiles had. What she didn’t recover from however was the following period of time, where she laid in the hospital, in a coma. Slowly dying, drifting away, until she was gone.

He had almost done the same thing to his family and friends. Let himself drift away. That must have terrified his Father, watching his son go the same way as his wife. The doctors rushing about, running tests as they try to figure out what’s killing him before he dies, but always coming up empty handed with useless apologies. 

Stiles’ eyes widened as he took all this in and faced his father. Staring straight into him as he said a broken “I’m sorry, Dad”.

The Sheriff rushed forwards and captured Stiles in a deep embrace, a bone crushing hug that was good in the ways all Stilinski hugs were famous for. His father bit back a few sobs, shoulders rocking but no sounds escaping.

Eventually his father released him from his hold and stood back. He looked ragged, probably hadn’t slept an ounce for the last few weeks.

“Dad, I’m okay. You need to rest.”

The Sheriff let out a half-hearted laugh. Wondering some days just who was taking care of whom. Resigning himself to following his son’s orders, they said their goodbyes, both saying ‘I love you’ and then he left.

As soon as he finally got out of earshot, Stiles rounded on his friend. 

“Scott. What the hell happened?”

Scott sucked in a quick breath before breaking like a dam. 

“Idon’tknowStiles-onesecondyouwerescreaming-andthentheroomlikeexploded-andyouweredying-andIwassoworried”

“Woah, woah Scott. Man you gotta slow down.”

Scott took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down and speak at a rate that wouldn’t produce garbled nonsense.

“It was insane. One second you were screaming and then you like - well - imploded or something. Everything in my room just leaped towards you for a split-second. Man my room was a disaster zone, my mum almost killed me when she saw it.”

“And then you just collapsed…. and I thought,” Scott coughed, “… you weren’t breathing or moving,” Scott wheezed, “ and…. and….”.

Scott drew several raspy breaths, attempting to force air down his constricting throat. Spinning around to his backpack he pulled out his inhaler and started gulping down air.

Stiles calmly waited until Scott could breathe again. Taking the time to let what Scott said sink in. Was that really what happened? He could remember getting angry, then waves of colours blinding him. Had he really destroyed Scott’s room without even moving? Why was his life turning into some sort of fantasy world? Next thing you know there’ll be vampires or werewolves or something. Heh - werewolves. Yeah that’s one thing he knows for sure can’t be real.

When Scott finally caught his breath, he sat in the chair next to the bed. They watched the TV in a companionable silence. Neither one of them apparently knew how to approach the “so you’re a bedroom-wrecking-telekinetic-mystery” subject.

As much as he knew he should fear the colours and the pain, he also kinda misses it. Now with a clear head on his shoulders he can truly appreciate the beautiful vision he had. Everything now looks dull and flat in comparison. Stiles imagined it would be like a colour-blind person gaining colour-vision for a few seconds. It opens your mind to what you’ve been blind to, to the extra beauty that you never knew you would miss until you experienced it for yourself.

One thing Stiles knew for certain was that his mother had known what they were. She had managed to say her goodbyes before she had her - whatever that black sea was. Sadly, the only link he had to any knowledge was long gone.

Stiles looked over at Scott. He could never forget the absolute beauty his friend had radiated that night. If the room had been beautiful, then Scott would have been absolutely stunning. He can still remember those rainbows of colours, the memories fading but still there. Still enough to bring tears to his eyes, seeing a side of his friend that he might never get to see again. He was sure he would’ve wasted away just watching such a thing, like enraptured in the fire of the northern lights.

At some point Scott noticed Stiles staring at him, and turned to face him. A single eyebrow raised in query of the stare. Stiles let a small smile cross his face as he turned back to watch the TV. For a few minutes he had allowed himself to forget the impossibility of seeing Scott as beautiful, at liking his best friend a little bit more then any friend should. That moment was over though, and he resumed attributing his weird attraction to the dancing colours and lights he saw in Scott rather then Scott himself.

As far as going into several weeks of coma went, he did seem to have good timing. There were only a few days left of school when he had gone, and at least he didn’t have any school work to catch up on. On the other hand, he now has wasted 2 weeks of his school holidays, probably 3 by the time he gets out of the hospital. He knows his dad isn’t going to let him out easily, demanding the doctors run more tests, to find out the cause of the threat to his son and fix it.

Stiles was busy sifting through his memories of what had happened, when it finally dawned on him. He was supposed to be angry at Scott. Why had he ignored Stiles all day?

“Scott?”

Scott turned away from the TV again with a single eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Where were you on my birthday?”

Scott flushed red as he looked down at his feet, clearly embarrassed. He rocked his head to side, looking out the corners of his eyes as his face scrunched up into guilt.

“Uhm, I was sick.”

Well that made sense - kind of. Except why hadn’t he responded to any of his texts?

“Why didn’t you text me?”

Scott looked even more sheepish as he mumbled out, “dropped it in the sink”. He pulled out his - ostensibly - dead phone.

Stiles couldn’t help his laugh, and at Scott’s shy grin, he continued laughing and laughing. He couldn’t be more glad at something so ordinary. He finally stopped laughing long enough to look at his friend with a face of fondness. And at Scotts grin and chuckle, he set them both off again. 

They were okay. 

They were bros-for-life, and nothing would ever come between them.


	5. Color me impressed

Stiles was finally released from hospital a few days later, with orders from the doctors to get ‘lots of bed rest, and keep your fluids up’. Stiles almost couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Apparently resting and drinking were the solutions to every problem in life to doctors.

He was ecstatic to be going home. Stiles was never fond of hospitals, especially after… well, after his mom had died there. Even then, hospitals sucked. Bad food, bad company, boredom beyond belief. It’s a wonder how patients don’t end up insane after a short stay. Surely that level of boredom is medically detrimental. Or maybe he’s just really over being at hospitals. Either way, he took to the advice like a fly to honey and barely budged from his bed for the next few days anyway.

About a week out of the hospital, Stiles was browsing the internet trying to find anyone who had shared stories similar to his experience a month earlier. Nothing he found though seemed relevant to him, not unless the school lunch had been spiked with LSD or something. After a - albeit somewhat entertaining - story about a guy who talks back to his walls and furniture, he gave up with a humph.

Spinning around in his desk chair a few times, making him slightly dizzy he tried to think. And then immediately stopping as a brilliant idea occurred to him. If he wanted to learn more about… whatever he was, then there was only one reasonable course of action. Hypothesis, Prediction, Experimentation and Conclusion. Good old science at work.

Snatching a sheet of paper from his desk and grabbing a pen he prepared to write down several ideas. After several minutes he finally settles on a single idea, that he has absolutely no idea. The page is still blank, and he’s still sitting there looking dazed and confused. Sitting back in the chair, rubbing his chin he starts really thinking about what happened. 

‘Firstly’, thought Stiles, ‘what was up with the colors?’. Stiles mused about them possibly meaning something, maybe his brain was receiving data - receiving input that a brain wasn’t really equipped to describe. Maybe it was just like - ‘I don’t know what this crap is, so I’ll just make it colorful’. Good job, brain. Helpful as always.

Stiles let out a long sigh. He was probably right though, as he wrote down his first idea. The colors might mean something… well, meaningful. What could they represent though? Maybe emotions? Feelings? Thoughts? No. That didn’t make any sense, the walls had been radiating colors as well, and the last time Stiles checked the walls didn’t have feelings.

Stiles looked out the corner of his eye to his bedroom wall, temporarily stuck on the notion that maybe the walls did have feelings. Startled, as he heard a noisy bird squawking away in the background, he laughed at himself and his insanity, and redirected his attention back to the paper. 

‘Maybe it represents heat, like infra-red vision or something’, thought Stiles. Well at least that would be cool, and useful. He could use it to see in the dark! Awesome! Finally reaching a starting point, he wrote down on the paper ‘IR Vision’. 

‘Okay, now I’ve got to make a prediction based on this…’ Stiles thought. Well he already had predicted something, he guessed. He would be able to see in the dark, and at least that test was easily done. 

Stiles also remembered several sci-fi movies where people used night-vision goggles. He also remembered that using them in daylight could easily blind a person, and that it would hurt… Stiles whole body jerked up in excitement - he had cracked it! Well, at least that was deceptively easy to work out.

Sadly Stiles knew there was one more important step in the scientific method, experiment. He had to figure out a way to… ‘activate’… his powers in the dark. Glad that his wallowing in bed created the perfect opportunity to experiment at night-time, he proceeded to draw the curtains, shut his laptop and turn off his bedroom light. 

He was instantly plunged into darkness, which really shouldn’t feel as familiar and comforting as it did. Ever since his swim in the ocean of dark he has felt at ease in the darkness, like it was a part of him that had decided to take up residence. Sometimes he could even feel it’s presence in his mind, waging a silent and steady war against the spark of energy. They were like boxers, circling each other, waiting for the perfect moment to strike - but still too evenly matched to risk being the first to attack.

His mind was in the center of the battlefield, the dark and the spark at the edges. He knew where the spark was now, it had revealed its location when he was swallowed by the darkness at Scott’s house. He could reach for it, probably even touch it - in his mind. But what would happen if he did? Would it consume him like last time?

Steeling his mind he knew he had to try. He was a teenager with buckets of angst poured over him daily at school, he couldn’t afford to wait until he had another outburst again, he had to be in control. He had never been in control before and it terrified him being so helpless. But in this he can take the reins, he can cause this himself.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed his body and retreated into his mind. His sense of his body started fading away in the background, the feeling of the bed under him turned into a soft pressure. The cool breeze from the open window turned into a slight rustling of the thin airs on his arms. His heartbeat started beating louder, the sound practically exploding outside his chest and drowning all other sounds in his head. After a few minutes, that too started to quiet and he was enveloped in silence.

He was as calm and relaxed as he was going to get - without accidentally falling asleep that is. He knew it was now or never. Moving carefully, he shifted his essence in his mind and silently coalesced nearer the spark. Whilst before he barely took notice of this entity in his mind, now that it was consuming his entire senses and he could see it for what it truly is. Power. Sheer, terrifying, all consuming power. At this distance - not quite touching it, but close - he could feel it’s energy pulsing into his mind in a steady thrum. 

Touching the entity seemed like a bad idea, and for once Stiles listened to his own logic, he didn’t need to touch it to experiment with the spark. As soon as he had moved close to it it started to fill him up. Continuing to hold himself back from the spark he resolved to testing his idea by waking his body up. He let the senses of his body return to him, bringing with it the situational awareness he had nearly completely forgotten. 

His heart beat returned to his chest, the cool air chilled him again and the mattress supported his spine as his body came back from its slumber. Finally, Stiles opened his eyes and took within him the sights they beheld. He prepared himself for the blinding beauty and washes of bright, saturated colors dancing and singing. Stiles let out a deep gasp as he encountered the brilliant sights of… nothing.

It was dark, and he couldn’t see. Not surprising really, considering how the human eyes functioned, you know - needing light and all. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bitter rush of disappointment rush through his body. As the feeling pulsed through his blood, he saw a soft smoky-swirl of dark grays and blacks misting across his skin.

Stiles let out a gasp of shock, it was real. Of course, when he had experienced it that night it had felt real, but until now it could have been a hallucination or something. But this, this was real. Really real. Shock and amazement coursed through his veins and threads of creamy-whites and spots of deep reds broke through the dark mist over his skin.

It took Stiles all of a few seconds between the shock and the realization of what he was seeing. He was seeing emotions - feelings. HIS own emotions, rolling off his skin. It wasn’t anywhere near as strong as the colors he saw that other night, but then again he wasn’t touching his spark this time, just simply letting its power radiate into him from a distance, like warming up from the sun.

This definitely wasn’t infra-red see-in-the-dark vision, oh no. This was way, way cooler. This was emotion-vision. His mind took a gleeful turn as he contemplated the awesomeness that this spark represented and watched as the deep reds danced and played their way around his skin, waving away and fading into a mist in the air. It was just as spectacular to watch as that other night, even more so now that he can actually enjoy it.

Stiles continued to sit there for hours playing through different emotions in his head, watching the way the colors spiked and moved. He realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t just the color that was important in determining what emotion he was feeling, it was the shape and the way it moves. It was also the interactions between emotions. At the end of the night, Stiles was confidently cataloging several emotions and their representations in his mind. Not surprisingly, anger was the easiest one. He could almost feel the anger in the sharp edges of reds that sliced around him. Then again, he was feeling the anger to cause it, so it’s not surprising that he could actually feel his own anger.

At some point in the night, when he was working on calm and relaxed emotions - deep lazy swirls of blues - he drifted off into a peaceful slumber. Also not surprising really, after being mesmerized by beautiful colors, resting peacefully in a warm bed. As he played with more and more emotions and testing them he began to be more and more sure that he wasn’t just sending the emotions out, but also bringing them in. When he generated the calm, he also felt the calm, like a feedback loop.

Only one problem still stuck in the back of his mind as he drifted off to sleep. Whilst he had pretty much established the strong ties between emotions and colors, he still didn’t understand why the walls, floors and the door of Scott’s house had colors too. He couldn’t see any colors on his own furniture in his room, but it was definitely there with Scott. What did those extra colours mean?


	6. Birthday Surprise

Stiles awoke to the sound of his phone pinging away. Grunting, he inwardly cursed himself on his stupidity of falling asleep before silencing the phone. He blearily opened his eyes and attempted to glare at the location of the noise, situated on his bedside table. 

It could only be one person who was texting him. His father always called, never left messages and only Scott seemed to know his number, or at least that’s what Stiles assumed, considering he had never received a message from anyone else before.

The phone managed to be heavenly silent for another minute before - bling - there it goes again. Sighing, Stiles crawled forward with no energy given for style, flailed his hand out and brought the phone to his face. 6 new messages from Scott. Of course.  
He opened the phone to read their conversation text:

Scott 9:03 AM  
hey dude

Scott 9:25 AM  
dude

Scott 9:53 AM  
dude??

Scott 10:10 AM  
srsly msg me back, got surprise 4 u

Scott 10:35 AM  
cmon man, wake up

Scott 10:37 AM  
mom dropping me off in 10 bro

Stiles let out another sigh. It shows how sad his life is that Scott doesn’t even need to ask permission to come around anymore, he just assumes that Stiles has nothing planned and rocks up. Stiles can kinda understand why he would think that, considering Stiles never has any plans. Ever. Well, not any plans with anyone except with Scott.

Briefly considering laying in bed until Scott arrives, he was persuaded however by the gunky feeling that only a shower could cure. As he got himself out of bed and started his morning ritual, he glanced at his pale and normal skin before quickly feeling his essence inside his mind. The arena in his head was in its calm state, lines drawn again, and his essence firmly in the center once more.

As he climbed into the shower, letting the warm water massage his tense shoulders he reached again for that place in his mind. He was definitely aware of the spark now, having gotten to know it intimately the night before. He could even coalesce his essence near it without too much trouble and start drawing from the soft and steady pulse of its power.

Barely sparing a thought as to how addictive this feeling of power had become, not even registering that each time the bright spark in his mind pulsed, the darkness pulsed too. The dark was patient though, sitting there, idly waiting for the right moment. Ever the picture of perfect calm.

As Stiles tapped into his spark once more, he felt the same rush of adrenaline and started seeing the emotion reflected on his skin. It was stronger then last night, or maybe he was just better at reading them, at understanding them. 

As he only had a few minutes to himself, he decided to forgo his usual private Stiles-time, which left him annoyingly half-hard and his body slightly aching in disappointment. His thoughts briefly dipped back to the messages Scott had sent him now that he was finally awake enough to understand them. Scott had a surprise for him - maybe his belated birthday present? It couldn’t be the new Call of Duty could it? That would be beyond awesome!

Racing out the bathroom with a new sense of excitement, a light-grey fluffy towel wrapped around his still damp body. Stiles isn’t much to look at, he’s fully aware of that. He’s pale and skinny, with hardly any bulging muscles showing through. He still thinks he has his redeeming qualities, namely his intelligence, but he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable over his current state of undress. He didn’t like other people seeing his body, always had felt unease under their gazes in the locker room.

Barging into his room he let out a - very manly - squeak at the sudden presence of Scott in his room. Stiles stood frozen in front of Scott as he watched Scott’s eyes dip down to his torso, then stutter down towards the towel around his waist, which was doing absolutely nothing to hide his semi-boner. After an extremely long second passed, his eyes jumped back to Stiles’ eyes. As realization of what he had just done dawned on him, Scott took an involuntary step backwards. A bright red blush rose up and covered Scott’s neck and face as he deliberately avoided his eyes to the side. 

The fact that Scott had seemed to be checking him out was curious in itself, but that’s not what had captured Stiles’ interest. No, what Stiles was indeed staring at what the brilliant rainbow of colors that he had seen once before. Only this time, the entire rainbow faded when Scott had looked down at Stiles’ crotch, and sharp, searing bands of red radiated out from him. When Scott had finally caught himself and stared off to the side, the bands faded and were replaced by a color he hasn’t cataloged yet, bright stars of white, twinkling and pulsing over his body. What the hell was that emotion?

Stiles hadn’t recognized the red bands, they were close to anger but still distinct. Anger was a deeper red, a sharper red. No, these were thick and blunt reds, so definitely not anger, but something close to it. Hate? Fear? Shock? Stiles wanted to reach out and touch the bands of red, to understand what it was, but they had dissipated as quickly as they had appeared and left Stiles and Scott standing there in awkward silence.

Scott turned away and Stiles walked over to his closet and proceeded to get dressed. Hopefully he could find some way of removing the tension from the air. Stiles couldn’t understand why seeing him in a towel could provoke such a strong negative reaction, he couldn’t possibly be jealous of Stiles’ body, that didn’t make sense. And yet that color of red seemed closer to jealousy then it was to anger. 

Stiles picked up his pillow and threw it at the back of his best friend’s head. Designed to signal the end of his changing into clothes, but also to bring their friendship back into the normalcy that it used to be. Scott turned around, giving his best attempt at a glare and threw the pillow straight back, a grin across his lips and his aura glowing and swirling orange. That at least made sense, Stiles had long since worked out that he projected that orange whenever he thought of Scott or his Dad. It was family, friends, loved ones. 

Letting out a huffed laugh, he directed Scott downstairs to the kitchen - his stomach reminding him that it was far overdue for some food. They ate in easy companionship until Scott drew his attention to his bag on the floor. Raising a single finger to his lips to indicate quiet, he slowly drew out a brand new bottle of Jack. Thankfully to Scott’s warning, Stiles was able to reign in his loud whoop of awesome. Seriously, best friend ever.

“Dude, best friend ever.”

Scott’s face broke out into a grin as he stashed the bottle back in his bag.

“We’re going to that clearing tonight” Scott said, smiling like a maniac.

Stiles laughed, watching as the rainbow colors started dancing across Scott’s skin again. He missed those colors. How could one guy be feeling so many different things at the same time? The primaries were blazing through in oranges and yellows. He hadn’t seen any yellows before, that one was new as well. Slightly frustrated with his lack of ability to understand all the colors and patterns, he resumed eating his cereal.

A loud knocking brought the boy’s attentions to the front door. Stiles got up and went to unlock it, revealing a seriously flustered neighbor, Mrs Blakefield on the other side. Stiles opened his mouth to ask how he can help her but she beat him to it - as usual - with her inability to be a decent human being.

“I need to talk with the Sheriff immediately!” She declared.

Stiles held back the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it was more trouble then it was worth. Instead he settled on trying to make her feel stupid, in the most innocent way possible.

“As you can see,” started Stiles as he waved in the direction to where his father’s cruiser was clearly absent, “he is at work at the moment.” Stiles resented people for knocking on their house when the Sheriff was at home, because Sheriff duties were supposed to be when he was on-duty, but as his dad always says, a Sheriff is never off-duty.

Mrs Blakefield huffed loudly, fixing him with a pointed glare as she snapped, “Some monstrous animal killed my poor Snickums.” Stiles hated that dog. The spoilt, loud, obnoxious little monster that it was, and he didn’t feel any sympathy for it’s passing. In fact, he was trying to hold back a chuckle, apparently unsuccessfully, as he was leveled a dark look.

She turned on her heel and strode out of his front yard, nose held high in the air. Stiles couldn’t help but call out, “nice seeing you as always, Mrs Blakefield!”

Settling back down with Scott in the lounge, who had already set up the Xbox, he mentally prepared himself for hours of awesome fun beating Scott again and again. Scott was so bad at video games that Stiles even felt a little guilty tricking him into an ambush of sticky grenades. Twice.

When it grew dark outside, they packed up the Xbox and walked to the kitchen. Stiles fired off a few texts to his father, telling him he’d be at Scott’s house for the rest of the day. They picked up a few necessary provisions as they put on their jackets and walked out of the house.

The trek to the clearing was a good 40 minute walk, but it was a nice walk. First following bendy pathways bordering the preserve and then a short walk through the preserve itself. Stiles was enjoying the walk so much, he didn’t even notice that he had barely said a word the entire way, which as anyone could tell you, was extremely unlike him.

They breached the clearing and sat down on the log next to the ashes of a previous campfire. He’d get the fire going in a minute, but rest first. He made grabby hands towards Scott, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was asking for. Scott unzipped the bag and reverently held the bottle of alcohol. 

Stiles and Scott, alone in the middle of the woods getting drunk next to a cackling fire. Yeah, this night was gonna be made of awesome.


	7. Bands of deep red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
>  \- Explicit sex in this chapter, which while very important to the storyline, can be skipped.

Stiles’ whole life changed at midnight. Everything he knew about himself, about Scott was flipped upside down.

It had been getting late, but both boys were still jittery, still up on the high of alcohol coursing through their veins. Warmed by a cackling fire, basking everything around them in a pulsing orange glow. There was no moon in the night sky, so the firelight was all the light that they had.

It didn’t stop Stiles from seeing the emotions pouring out of Scott though. The whole night had been awesome so far, Scott had been projecting companionship oranges and happy, excited yellows.

Everything changed however during an innocent tousle. Scott had made a side comment about Stiles being a cadbury - apparently that’s what a person who gets drunk easily is called - his phone had supplied to him. Stiles set his phone and bottle of jack down and crouched low. In one quick dash he leapt towards Scott, grabbing his arms around the startled boy and crashing them both to the ground in a tackle. Both boys laughing hysterically all the way.

They rolled around and play-fought for a few minutes until both of them were puffing and panting, exhausted and just laying there. Stiles on the ground on his back, looking up at Scott caging him in with his hands, looming over the top. The bottom half of Scott's body was draped over his legs.

As Scott stayed there, staring and not moving, Stiles got his first glimpse of that strange red band up close. He could even touch it if he wanted to. Stiles reached his hand towards the band, which happened to be dancing around Scott’s jaw. Maybe if he wasn’t so intoxicated he might have realized what this could look like to Scott, but at the moment he didn’t care, he wanted to know why Scott could be angry or even jealous in this position. Stiles hadn’t even won the fight.

Connecting his hands to one of the thick bands, Stiles let out a sharp gasp as his body was flushed with an emotion he never considered before - lust, desire, want. Scott wanted him. Stiles’ eyes widened rapidly as he finally understood the encounter with the towel.

Scott however, not understanding his friend below him was just curiously absorbing his emotions seemed to take the hand at his jaw, pupils blown wide and sharp gasp as encouragement. Without preamble, he lunged forwards, capturing Stiles lips with his in a furious kiss.

Maybe if Stiles wasn’t so drunk he could muster an effort to not enjoy this. Maybe if he wasn’t so intoxicated by the waves of lust from his friend, absorbing more and more with each passing second that they kissed, he might have thought about his actions more thoroughly. But right now, Stiles didn’t care, his whole body was craving touch, was desperate to touch, desperate to feel good.

As Stiles let himself go completely he closed his eyes, and by the time he opened them again - to what only felt like seconds - he and Scott were already naked and grinding against each other. Rolling in the dirt and the grass, creating smudges on their backs and sides, clothes spread out as if they were thrown away desperately. 

One of Scott’s hands was planted on the back of his head, the other grasping his right arm. Stiles’ hands were both on Scott’s back, holding him in close. Their naked bodies were flush with each other, a thin layer of sweat between them making them slightly sticky, but neither of them caring. Every time they parted slightly, a cool breeze made their way between them and the chilliness made them press back again, closer and tighter then before.

Scott rolled himself on top again, and this time he ground his hips against Stiles. Their cocks rubbed against each other, creating the amazing burst of friction that they both needed. Stiles was close even despite the lack of direct contact. He could tell Scott was close too from the way his breaths came out short and ragged. Scott rolled his hips again, capturing the half-gasp of his friend with his mouth once more.

It only took a few more rolls of his hips for Scott to tense up, at the edge, before finally crashing over and releasing. The warm shot of cum on his belly was all Stiles needed to reach orgasm as well, and both boys held each other through the shaking. Eventually Scott’s kisses slowed to a lazy mouthing as he slid to the side a little, the sudden cold air on his left side causing a soft gasp from Stiles.

Too drunk and in a stupor, in the warm glow of the campfire, it wasn’t surprising that the both of them fell asleep like that. Before drifting off into the realm of dreams, Stiles caught the final colors of Scott that night, the soft and fuzzy rings of blue - happy and content, bringing a small smile to Stiles’ face.


	8. The magic of pancakes

Waking up this particular morning had to be one of the worst awakenings in his entire life. Considering he once awoke out of swimming in the dark to reveal he had been in a coma for weeks - that was clearly saying something on how bad this particular morning was.

Stiles mentally checked a list of reasons why this morning was so horrible. Firstly, there was the fact that he only had been asleep for a few hours. Secondly, considering the campfire had long since died, and they slept naked and covered in sweat and other bodily fluids, Stiles was freezing cold. If it wasn’t for the octopus named Scott that was clinging desperately to him, sharing their body heat, Stiles was sure he’d be a frozen ice-block by now. Which leads him to points 3 and 4. The dried bodily fluids - which ew, and the Scott, which - well Stiles didn’t want to think on that too much, he can save the freak out for when he’s in a nice warm bed at home.

Continuing to add to his pile of suck was his aching muscles and pounding head - his body obviously starting his hangover. The last piece to add to his awesome start was the morning wood that his body had decided to curse him with. Now he couldn’t at least get up and get dressed - he would wake up Scott, and that was going to be awkward enough as it is, without having to face down his friend and search for his clothes with a hard-on.

Cursing his stupid teenage body, he drew up as many of his boner-killing images he could think of to try and fix the problem. Using horrible mental images of things Stiles would rather not speak about to anyone about was great in theory, but as he let out an involuntary shudder that woke up Scott - he realized that waiting patiently and relaxing might have been a better strategy.

As Scott rolled over in his waking state, Stiles quickly discovered that Scott too had a teenage body - which had also betrayed him. He never would have thought that seeing Scott’s boner would ever be a cause of relief - what was his life, seriously - but he felt it anyway. 

Scott struggled to open his eyes, groaning. Seeming to be just as hungover as Stiles was. Stiles moved quickly towards the pair of jeans he could see rumpled a few feet away. 

Picking the jeans up - damn it, Scott’s - he threw them to the writhing and stretching form of his friend on the floor, and set about to picking up the other clothes, dressing himself and throwing the rest at Scott.

Apparently the universe took pity on Stiles this morning, as they managed to dress in blissful silence and walked their separate ways to their - thankfully - separate residences. He must admit - however reluctantly - that the walk through the woods at dawn was good for his pounding headache. Unfortunately, as his mind cleared and he woke up enough to register the previous night’s events he grew very troubled, very quickly.

Describing last night was… problematic at best. The main problem was obviously the sex. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Scott had wanted it, that at least was clear and solid. It was also easy to come to the conclusion that both of them had enjoyed it. His orgasm last night was easily the best he’s ever had, by a long shot. Every touch was pleasurable, every brush of skin on skin was sending him on a tingling journey of pure awesome.

So no, Stiles and his body readily agreed that enjoying the sex was not the problem at all. The problem was that Stiles didn’t really see his friend that way, kind of. That’s where it gets tricky. Never once had Stiles ever had a sexual thought of Scott. Of course, they had kissed once before - when they were 10 - but that was more experimentation and curiosity, a sense of intimacy and closeness perhaps, but not sexual in nature.

When Stiles had touched the red band of lust projected by Scott, Stiles had felt all the want and desire himself, as if his body was the source of it. And that was definitely the issue at hand. If he hadn’t been absorbing the lust from Scott, would he have made the same choices? Would he still have wanted sex with his best friend? He doesn’t doubt how awesome, and how fun the sex was, he doesn’t regret that it happened, but he does worry that it may not have been of his own instigation. 

He searches for his memories and thoughts of Scott, he could now apply sexual memories to Scott in his head, but does he see his friend now in a sexual manner? Maybe he could - or would - if put in that situation again. But that’s exactly the problem, he just doesn’t know.

Still trying to sort out his thoughts and events logically, he finally came to the conclusion that there was - again - really only one course of action, the scientific method. He would need to experiment and work out if he has his own desires for Scott, or if it was just Scott all along. Deciding to start from the simplest point, he has to answer what he feels to be the most uncomfortable question he has ever asked himself. One simple question, yet stirring so many interesting, yet scary possibilities.

‘Am I gay?’

What he knows for sure is that he has to work this out without Scott and without using his spark for guidance, so that it can’t interfere and make things a big bucket of complicated again.

Sighing, Stiles also had come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t actually mind a repeat of last night with Scott either - especially including using his spark to amplify their combined emotions. He figures it’s close to buying a game of Call of Duty, putting it in the console and Halo booting up. Just because he didn’t necessarily want to buy or play Halo, doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun playing it, or that he doesn’t want to play it again.

When Stiles reached home a few minutes later, he was still mulling over the events of last night. Asking himself at least a hundred times if could possibly be gay. He stepped into the shower and took the most cleansing shower of his life. Water starting a murky brown as the dirt was washed off but eventually clearing. Not even bothering to enjoy some private Stiles-Time, too busy pondering events and thoughts. 

He stumbled his way to his bed and crawled under the covers, barely giving one last thought about the events before turning over to the darkness of sleep. 

***

Stiles woke up this time to the sound of knocking on his door. He mentally celebrated how amazing it is to wake up clean, warm, not being cuddled by a best friend and blissfully not hungover. 

“Yea, Dad?” said Stiles. Though muffled with the pillow and remnants of sleep, it came out more of a “Yngh Ddd”. His dad seemed to understand anyway.

“Come on son, it’s midday and there’s pancakes.”

Pancakes! He mentally whooped. His Dad may be the absolute worse cook in the whole world, but his pancakes seemed to always come out perfect in spite of that. One of the oddest peculiarities of his life.

Before racing downstairs to devour his prey, Stiles sent a rapid message just saying ‘Hey’ to Scott. He hoped that the normalcy and succinctness would either allow their friendship to return to normal or for Scott to understand that Stiles was still his bro - no matter what. Stiles would be happy with anything, especially an explanation from his best friend describing how the events of last night even came to pass - like the fact that Scott seemed to be crushing hard on Stiles.

It was only after dinner that night that he started to become a bit worried. Scott wasn’t the fastest replier in the world, but this delay? Yep, he was definitely ignoring Stiles this time. ‘Whatever’, Stiles thought. If he needed a bit more time to deal, then Stiles was happy to give him that time. He never could understand why it took other people so long to adapt to odd situations like he did.

***

When Scott still had yet to reply by lunchtime the next day, Stiles had called Melissa and asked if Scott was sick. She had told him that he was, in fact, just fine and playing video games right now. When Stiles had asked if he could talk to Scott, she told him that he said he was busy playing and would call Stiles later.

He didn’t call.

***

After a week passed of no communication, Stiles finally got fed up and decided Scott had had enough time to mope around. Showing up on the front door, noting quickly that Melissa’s car wasn’t there, Stiles knocked and waited for Scott to answer the door. 

He didn’t answer the door, but Stiles definitely saw a shadow peeking around the curtains of the lounge. Scott was door-screening him!

Getting furious, Stiles made his way to the backyard and clambered up to Scott’s room and opened the window. Only the window wouldn’t budge… Because it was locked. Scott was in his bed, playing video games like he wasn’t betraying his bro. What an ass.

Pounding on the window, Scott glanced over, at least having the decency of looking ashamed and sheepish before turning up the volume on his game, and filling the air around him with gunshots and explosions. 

Grumbling and muttering several swear words - in several different languages, Stiles climbed down and called his Father to come back and pick him up. Obviously he wasn’t going to be able to speak to Scott today.

‘Well’, he thought, ‘if he’s going to be like that, then I’ll just meet him somewhere we he can’t escape from.’ Stiles knew that Scott always headed out for snack shopping on midday Saturdays. He would simply wait until then to corner him, and force him to spill about what’s going on. 

With a solid plan firmly set, Stiles nodded to himself. If Scott didn’t want to play nice, then Stiles? Yea, Stiles wasn’t going to play very nice either.


	9. Bright blue eyes

As soon as Scott left for snack shopping that Saturday, Stiles was immediately on his tail. Their usual route would bring him to the edge of the preserve and then back up the main road, Stiles knew it well since they had walked that way hundreds of times before.

Stiles followed along silently until Scott hit the edge of the preserve. That’s when Stiles decided to jump him.

“Jesus… ” cried Scott as he jumped back in fright.

Stiles crowded into his space, making sure Scott’s back was to the woods, leaving him no where to run or hide.

“You’ve been ignoring me!” accused Stiles in a tight voice, filled with irritation.

“I just…” started Scott, backing up slowly, looking left and right - calculating his escape. “I just need some space dude”.

Stiles rolled his eyes. I mean, yea of course he knew Scott was stubborn and stupid sometimes, but this was reaching epic proportions now.

“Space to do what, Scott?” Stiles demanded, his voice rising, “Didn’t seem like you wanted that much space when we were having sex that night!”

Scott froze like a deer in the headlights, obviously not expecting his friend to come right out and say it so bluntly. He was probably hoping it would be left alone and never talked about again - except that just wasn’t working for Stiles.

“That wasn’t…. I didn’t…. It’s not…” tried Scott.

“I know you wanted it Scott”, said Stiles confidently. No matter how much else of that night he didn’t understand, the fact that Scott had wanted it was very clear.

“You don’t know shit!” roared Scott. And woah, where the hell had that come from?

Scott’s face had morphed from frozen fear to furious in less then a second. Where before he was stumbling backwards and looking for escape, suddenly he was pushing back towards Stiles, left hand curled into a fist, right hand pointing at Stiles’ chest. He had never seen this side of his best friend before, then again it seems there were a lot of sides to Scott he has never seen before.

“I also know you enjoyed it!” yelled Stiles. Just because his friend was denying what had happened, doesn’t mean he had to be a dick about it. He felt fully justified in yelling back, trying to make Scott see sense.

That however, happened to be a really bad way to go about it though, since the next thing Stiles knew was *THWACK*.

Scott’s left hook had come out of no where. Pain bloomed across his left cheek and nose. Feeling a warm liquid tricking down it - probably blood. He was also knocked unbalanced and fell backwards onto the rock-solid floor in a painful mess of limbs.

Looking up at his best friend who was looking back down at him aghast. Glancing between Stiles and his bloodied fist in horror, Scott sent one more terrified glance at Stiles before running - no, bolting - away in the woods.

Sighing dramatically, and wiping away some of the blood from his nose onto his sleeve, Stiles jumped to his feet and starting sprinting after Scott, calling his name. As much as he hated his friend right now, it was completely obvious that Scott had serious issues with himself liking guys. Stiles only ever saw the emotions that Scott’s body had felt, and his body was a hundred percent on board with being gay. But only now Stiles is realizing that Scott’s mind might be the one that isn’t okay with that. Maybe he didn’t even know why body had reacted that way, and the night at the campfire was a horrific wake up call.

The only thing to do now was to calm Scott down and talk about his feelings and stuff. Then make Scott apologize and serve Stiles for weeks after. Hmm, maybe he could even get him to do his house chores. More importantly, he needed to help his friend though. No one should be hating on themselves like that.

Following the sounds of a - somewhat thankfully - load Scott crashing through the underbrush, Stiles kept running and running until he was out of breath. How the hell was Scott fitter even with the asthma? Oh right, he was in a coma. 

“SCCCCOOOOOTTTT” called out Stiles between pants of breath.

After resting for a minute and clutching the stitch in his side, he started walking towards the last direction he heard Scott from.

As it grew dark, Stiles was at least thankful for the shining bright presence of the beautiful full moon lighting his way. Stumbling around in the pitch black of the woods was not his idea of fun.

He called out Scott’s name again, but he startled when a response came back. As a howl.

‘What the hell?’ thought Stiles. A howl?! Stiles knew full well that there no wolves in California, at least not for 60 odd years. No. The more likely explanation was that someone was imitating a wolf howl, though it had sounded far more realistic then Stiles would like to admit. However given the lack of an alternate reason, he decided to go with that theory.

He was just entertaining the ridiculous notion of Scott being the person who howled when he heard said person screaming from his right. Stiles’ heart thumped louder and faster in his chest, eyes scanning the darkness for threats as he jogged over to where the scream had come from.

That’s when Stiles saw Scott, at the bottom of a hill, clutching his lower right side - face scrunched up in pain. Stiles made his way carefully down the slope, calling out Scott’s name, barraging him with ‘are you okay’s and ‘dude’s.

Scott groaned and looked up at Stiles, before looking back down at where his hand was clutching his side. Stiles grew worried and inspected Scott’s side more closely, beneath his hand was two semi-circle punctures that was obviously a mountain-lion bite. At least it had to be, since that was the only dangerous animal in these woods that would attack a human like this.

Scott’s hand and side was covered in his own blood, and Stiles stayed there crouched, staring and gawking at the wound in fascination. After a few seconds when the shock faded, Stiles threw off his jacket, shucked off one of his plaid tops, re-adorned his jacket again before scrunching his top and pressing it against the bite on Scott, telling the shaking boy to keep pressure on it. And really, the poor kid should have known to do as much considering his mom was a nurse…

Stiles dragged his eyes away from the shining red blood and saw Scott laying stock still, staring with wide eyes towards Stiles. Eyes trained on his lips, which were currently half open in stunned fascination. Pulling out of his reverie, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he spoke to Scott softly - all of the previous anger had been dissipated from the walk and seeing Scott like this. 

“We need to get you to the hospital” he said, moving towards Scott, reaching out his hand underneath his elbow and starting to pull him to his feet. As soon as he made contact though, Scott twisted to the side - hissing in pain - before he shoved at his friend. Stiles stumbled backwards, surprised by the action as Scott spat out “I don’t need your help”. Stiles stood there dumbstruck, staring at his so-called friend. “Fuck off.” Scott said through gritted teeth.

And that was the final straw, the final break in their friendship. In the almost 10 years they have known each other, not once, never did Scott ever swear. Not even when he died over and over in call of duty. Not when he broke his arm and Stiles playfully punched it by accident. There was a small flash of regret that broke over Scott’s features but Stiles had missed it, instead seeing only the cold, hard glare.

Whatever Scott’s problem was, it didn’t matter anymore, because he knew when he had said those two words that Stiles would leave him alone. And Stiles did that indeed, simply standing up straight, looking mournfully at his no-longer friend. Turning on his heel - even managing to not trip or flail about - he walked off in a random direction where he thought he had heard a few car horns blaring earlier in the distance.

‘It should hurt more then this’, thought Stiles as he slowly made his way through the woods back to civilization. He thought he would feel anger and frustration, feel like revenge. But all Stiles feels is cold and resigned and sad. For the first time since being able to tap into his spark, Stiles hated his ability, hated the mess its made of his life. Made him lose his best friend, miss 3 weeks of his holidays, cause untold stress on his father. 

Stiles didn’t even care enough to get undressed or to get clean after he walked in the front door. He just trudged his way to his room and passed out on his bed. Maybe if he hadn’t been too far inside his own head, wallowing in his sadness he might have noticed a sleek black figure low to the ground following him home. Maybe he would have noticed the wolf-with-bright-blue-eyes at the edge of his property, gazing upwards and tracking the presence of a young boy walking home from the woods.

Just maybe if he had been paying attention, he might’ve realized just how much trouble he was already in.


	10. Fields of Anger

Stiles was freaking out. Not just 10 minutes ago had he heard on the police radio that a jogger had found with not just a body in the woods, but half a body. In the same woods as he and Scott had been wandering through last night.

Jesus - Scott! It couldn’t be, right? Scott had to be okay.

Only Scott hadn’t responded to any of his texts, which unfortunately was unsurprising, even if he was alive and well. Stiles let out a frustrated sigh as he threw himself onto bed. He couldn’t believe he’d have to wait until tomorrow at school to even find out if his -ex- best friend was alive or cut in half, dead in the woods.

Stiles was torn between feeling scared for his friend, wanting to race out into the woods to try and find the other missing half of the body - to make sure it wasn’t Scott. The other half was terrified of the animal that had bitten Scott, had obviously ripped someone in half was still out there.

As Stiles tossed and turned on his bed, slipping into a restless sleep, he knew he shouldn’t even care about Scott - since the way his best friend had treated him lately. But you just can’t erase 10 years of friendship that easily, no matter how hard you may want to.

***

Well, at least it wasn’t Scott’s body that they had found. That much was obvious from the sight of Scott, completely ignoring Stiles. Not that he wasn’t used to being ignored, but this is the first time he’s ever really felt alone. He briefly regretted not making any other friends - backup friends - in case something happened to Scott, but they had thought they were bros-for-life. 

It was in first period however that Stiles sat, glaring at the back of Scott’s head that he noticed something was different. Scott had been glancing around when everyone else was just getting on with work, class as silent as normal. But then she had entered the classroom. 

“I’d like you to meet Allison Argent” the principal was saying to the class.

As Allison took her seat behind his ex-friend, Stiles watched as Scott turned around with a shy grin on his face and blush on his neck and handed her a pen. Stiles had been watching closely and she didn’t ask for a pen. What the hell?

Reaching in his mind for his spark and drawing its power once more - the first time he had done so since that night. Feeling the familiar warm tingling sensation envelope him as he saw the people around him spring to life in washes of colour and - huh. So apparently using this in crowds is a bit overwhelming.

All the colours were blurring and swirling, making picking anyone out individually a massive challenge. Well, everyone except for Scott that was. When Stiles saw Scott he saw something he had never seen before. It wasn’t a colour, wasn’t a pattern really. It was barely even an aura. Stiles found it hard to use the right words to describe it. And what it was - was a field of absolute power. It was similar to the power he could feel in the power of his mind, and yet this power was different.

The power field wasn't made of despair and death like the dark in his mind, it wasn’t made of light and electricity like his spark was either. If Stiles didn’t know any better he would’ve said that the field radiated anger. It was difficult to believe however as he watched Scott turning back to the front, grin set in place, reverently touching his hand where it had brushed Allison’s.


	11. Creepers

Stiles ducked as a lacrosse ball hurtled over his head.

“BILINSKI!”

The coach looked furious, apparently saving his own life from the supersonic projectile of death was rage inducing, surely coach didn't hate him that much?

“This isn't dodgeball! Get your head in the game or it's another season on the bench”.

Hah. Who was he kidding? There was no chance he was going to be on the team anyway, and at this point Stiles really didn't want to be on a team with a seething Scott throwing deadly projectiles at him. Seriously, what the hell was up with him?

As Stiles staggered back onto the field he tapped into his spark and let the warm rush of power cover him. He breathed a sigh of relief at finally feeling it again. Maybe he should be worried about how addicting the feeling was, or how often he was using it without deep concentration, but right now he was more curious about Scott's aura.

None of the normal emotions were radiating from Scott, they were all blocked out by this dark field of red. Shimmering raw power of rage. He hasn't seen anything like it while casually browsing other people, managing to find out some really weird emotional relationships in the process. Teenagers were a mixed bag of confusion, angst and passion. Who knew?

What he did know was that the new girl – Allison wasn't it? - definitely liked Scott. She was covered in small thin bands of lust, but something milder, probably interest. Not that he needed super-senses to see her dimpled shy smile or the dopey grin from Scott that always returned it.

It made Stiles furious, he knew that Scott was interested in him. More then interested. Does he truly have feelings for Allison or is he just deflecting and proving himself with her. It definitely seems like Scott is playing up his affections for her whenever he spots Stiles watching. Grins extra hard, smiles extra dopey towards her. Stupid Scott and his stupid face.

Stiles was still unsure of his own feelings, but this was his ex-best friend. Scott needed to snap out of his fake world and own up to his feelings. Maybe this thing with Allison is pure, but Scott still needed to address his other feelings before they turn catastrophic and he lives a life of lies.

Stiles focused back on Scott's aura, trying to see through it, to find a crack where he could discover Scott's true emotions. He focused harder and harder, gritting his teeth in determination, searching the field of dark red rage until …

SMACK!

Well, at least this time Coach couldn't punish him for dodging the ball. Though blocking it with the right side of his head was probably not the best idea ever. As Stiles crumbled gracelessly to the floor and landed in a head of limbs and pain, his – now horizontal – body looked out at the forest line, which huh – there was another dark red pulsing field out there too. The source of which looked like it was stealthily hiding behind a thick tree.

As he clambered back onto his feet, trying to ignore the words of discouragement from the Coach, he continued with practice, while keeping an eye on the forest line, watching the dark red bubble remain there, still and silent.

**

It only took a second for Stiles to make up his mind to wander in the opposite direction of the lockers and towards the second power source, which was still perfectly still behind a tree. Whatever it was, it looked like the same field as Scott, and was sure to provide insights into why Scott's emotional field is so radically different now.

He marched towards the tree in question with purpose, most likely it was probably another teenage boy, doing god knows what out here behind a tree. Wait. A quick thought flashed through his mind as he considered something. No that was stupid, no one could be out here jerking it for the 40 minutes of lacrosse practice he had.

Still, as Stiles neared it he didn't want to catch some poor guy out, he had some sense of decency. He decided to call out a quick greeting to this peculiar person.

“Hey, dude behind the tree!”

Stiles thought he heard an annoyed sigh before a figure stepped out behind the tree and stood in front of him. In front of him stood a truly unique sight. A tall well-built man, with sculpted jet-black hair, rough beard and bright hazel eyes, face set into a completely unjustified glare as he place his hands in his black leather jacket.

Having been thoroughly immunized against the power of glaring from his dad – the Sheriff – Stiles spared no time in being intimidated, but his ADHD seemed to fail him anyway and make the first thing out his mouth the question on his mind, yet really the worst conversation starter.

“Why are you all...” Stiles flailed his right hand out, motioning up and down, “weird looking?”

Yep, as the words Stiles started with sunk in, he mentally cursed himself at the terrible wording. The man seemed to think likewise as he face quickly morphed from slight confusion to an even harder glare which Stiles thought was impossible to achieve.

He quickly backtracked. 

“Err, what I mean is... when I look at you, it's feels weird.” Stiles paused, “... to me”

Apparently, his second attempt wasn't going to be any better then his first. The man turned around, clearly done with the train wreck that is Stiles, when Stiles started to get frustrated, realizing that the aura wasn't the only weird thing afoot.

“HEY! What are you doing creeping around the school?”

The man looked back around and Stiles started babbling, as per the norm.

“Like seriously, your a grown man watching young boys get all sweaty playing on the oval, hiding behind a tree. I'm definitely going to report you, my Dad – the Sheriff and all – your definitely not ...”

Stiles was silenced by the man darting forwards, spinning Stiles a little before pinning him up against a tree, face mushed into bark and an elbow in his back.

The man seemed to finally find his voice though, Stiles would count that as a win in the communication front, except being pinned to a tree by a powerful adult male, behind the school oval with no witnesses or anyone to help him was starting to make his whole confrontation idea look really, really bad.

“Shut. Up.” the man growled at him. And really? Rude.

Stiles heard the man take a deep breath through his nose near his neck. Great, this guy was definitely a child-molesting creeper. Well, Stiles has never more been unhappy to be right.

The strange man spoke into his ear, slowly and carefully, but also forcefully, making sure Stiles obeyed.

“Stay away from me.”

Again, Stiles was confused. What kind of child-molesting creeper tells a child to stay away. The dude was clearly into guys, considering there are no girls on the lacrosse team. And Stiles was prime guy material. He was attractive, at least with his clothes and lacrosse gear on, where you couldn't tell he was 100% scrawny. Wait, why is Stiles disappointed he wasn't molested, wow he really has screwed up priorities.

After the man released Stiles and turned to walk away again, Stiles blamed the ADHD for calling out again to the man as he stormed away.

“Hey! That was not cool man!”

Thankfully, the man continued to walk away and further into the forest, and Stiles was damned if he was going to follow him into there. There was curiosity and then there was stupidity. Stiles sighed as he realized that the second field of rage didn't provide any insights into what it was, other then the fact that both fields of rage seemed to surround guys who were complete assholes.

Stiles immediately dismissed that idea as he remembered that Jackson looked normal, and a bigger asshole, there was none.


	12. The Tree

Stiles sighed dramatically.

He looked down at the page he was writing on, scribbling down all his theories about Scott and Creepy Man that could he think of. The page was, yet again, completely blank. He really ought to find a better way of working things out because this Science stuff was failing him hardcore.

Then again, with the fact that he sees these auras with a power very much akin to magic, he's really not suprised the scientific method has so far failed to yield helpful results. He barely understands his own power, let alone come even close to understanding why Scott and Creeper and different from everyone else.

Turning to Google had also returned almost no help whatsoever, well, no help unless he decided to start taking drugs and could compare and contrast that experience. Not that he needs drugs to see his own trippy hallucational world. 

Maybe he's missing something. He tries to remember back, trying to find connected, but separate events that could help as a starting point. It all started back in Scott's room, on his birthday. Did he receive his magical powers because it was his birthday? Something like Sabrina? Or was it just triggered by his emotional outburst. Or both?

Undeniably, it was a very powerful outburst, Scott had said his room was in ruins. Stiles pauses, thinking about how maybe telepathy was also something he could be trying to do. He had a feeling though, that telepathy was connected to being able to see colors in objects, not just people, and manipulate them. So far he hasn't been able to see colors in anything but people. Maybe it just required a bit more concentration.

Stiles closed his eyes and reached for his spark and let the familiar sensation flow through his body. Absorbing it's power has come as natural to Stiles as drinking water, it even feels just as necessary now, his body thirsting for the power too. 

Opening his eyes, he looked back down upon himself, the only way he can check if it's working. Sure enough he can see the thick lumps and swirls of blue, dusting lightly off his skin, representing his calmness and focus. However soon he was distracted by a slight glare of maroon shearing through his window. He must have forgotten to close his blinds.

Walking over to the window and looking out, he froze as he noticed the maroon shear was actually a field of rage, in his backyard, hiding behind a tree. 

"You've got to be kidding me."

Seriously, this guy is the ultimate creeper, he even followed him home – to the Sheriff's house and is now stalking him. Wow. Stiles actually feels impressed a bit, stalking the son of the Sheriff at his own house takes balls. He also feels a bit pissed off – because stalking.

He quickly, but calmly made his way down to the back door, while selecting his Dad's number in his contacts. His Dad was out on a night-shift, but he would always pick up for Stiles pretty much instantly. He left the phone on the contact screen, ready to call at a moments notice as he exited his house and looked over the yard.

The deep red blob was still in the same position, still stalking and hiding, but Stiles has one up on him now. He walked closer to the tree, whilst keeping a safe distance in case he needed to dial and run.

"Hey, creeper guy, you suck at hiding."

Stiles heard someone swear thickly into the air, but it wasn't a deep male voice. And he'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Scott.

A second later, Scott emerged from the tree looking baffled at Stiles.

Several emotions rushed through Stiles body. He couldn't decide which one to settle on. Relief it wasn't that other creeper guy, anger that Scott was stalking him, anger at a lot of things Scott had done. There was even a glimmer of fondness that remained. 

While sorting through his long list of emotions, Scott managed to speak first – for once.

"How did you know I was here?" he questioned. 

Apparently Scott was under the impression his ninja skills were worthy of undetection. Well, technically I guess he was doing a good job of staying hidden if it wasn't for Stiles random use of his super-sight.

Stiles really didn't want to lie to him, but Scott really didn't deserve being told any of the amazing things Stiles could do, especially since he abandoned him. No, he would keep it a secret for now.

"I saw you from my window", he went with a half-truth. He didn't really see Scott, but he did see someone.

Scott tilted his head to the side, frowning in concentration, and that look really shouldn't be as adorable as it was on Scott's face. Scott still looked unsure when he responded.

"I think that was a lie."

And... okay, that was weird. Scott has never had a sense for Stiles lies before, was he getting bad at lieing, or was Scott just oversure of his super-stealthy skills? Either way, Stiles decided to do what he did best, and deflected.

"What are you doing here, Scott?"

Stiles almost felt sorry for Scott as his face morphed from confused to hurt, to guilty, to sad and then onto angry. He seemed to settle on angry, though Stiles had no idea why.

"Why were you talking with Derek?"

Wait, what? Who is Derek?

"Who the hell is Derek?"

Scott gave him a look that sent strong glares and annoyance his way.

"The guy you went into the forest with after practice!" he seethed.

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but Scott cut across him with a raised voice and looking absolutely pissed off.

"I saw you two, making out against the tree!"

What? Making out?

"Scott no, that's not ..." Stiles started, but was immediately cut off by Scott's yelling.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" Scott shouted, "Didn't take you long to find another guy willing to fuck you huh?"

Stiles finally spurred into action, finding his voice. Completely fed up with Scott's hypocrisy and wild accusations.

"What about you Scott?! Are you enjoying Allison's pussy as much as you enjoyed my DICK?"

THWACK!

Stiles really should've seen that one coming, but Scott totally deserved that jab and he's only dishing out what he's taking from him.

"You think I enjoyed you getting me wasted and taking advantage of me?" Scott spat out to Stiles, who was still on ground cradling his bloody nose.

"Are you kidding me? YOU brought the booze, YOU kissed me, YOU ripped my clothes off!" Stiles yelled back, words slightly slurred, but still strong with venom.

Scott reached down towards Stiles and pulled him up quickly, before throwing him against the tree and pinning him, hanging a clear foot in the air with just one hand as he pointed to Stiles face with the other. How the hell could Scott be that strong?

Scott toned down his volume to a harsh whisper, filled with silent threat.

"I'm. Not. Gay."

Stiles heard the words, but didn't believe them, probably because Scott didn't believe them either. He also toned down his voice to a soft whisper, still loud enough in the silent night to be heard clearly.

"Are you trying to convince me? ... Or yourself?" Stiles asked.

Scott's face scrunched up in fury again and he balled his free hand and raised it above his head. With Scott's sudden strength, his inability to pull punches and the solid tree trunk behind his head, Stiles quickly realized that this punch could do some serious damage, and his father wouldn't get home for another 6 hours. Not a good time to be bleeding out and unconsciousness in his backyard.

Stiles threw caution to the wind and decided to get proactive. His mind leaped from it's calm position and threw itself towards his spark, wrapping itself around the spark completely, not just absorbing power from it, but draining it, consuming it. 

The burst of power rushed through Stiles and everything burst into life. The trees, the floor, the house, everything was aglow. Scott's fist was already well on it's way towards his face but Stiles was faster, focusing all his power into a repulsive force.

Stiles supposes he may have gone a little overboard on the draining power thing, because what was just supposed to be a shield to save his life, was a tidal wave of force that flung Scott backwards, sailing towards another tree, colliding with it in a shower of bark, branches and twigs as well as terrible crunching sounds that although Stiles has never heard before, was clearing bone snapping completely in half.

What was a purely defensive move out of terror was a wave of destruction which would land Scott in the hospital if he was lucky, but more likely dead. Stiles felt absolutely horrified as withdrew his mind from his spark and started seeing clearly again.

As Stiles rushed forwards he could hear Scott groaning, well at least he wasn't dead – yet. However the rapidly pooling blood around Scott's head, as well as his broken leg, combined with several deep lacerations across his torso made Stiles dial emergency, only fumbling the number once.

Stiles swore over and over, waiting for the line to pick up, hoping against all odds that he hadn't just killed his best friend.


	13. Darkness

By the time Stiles heard the sirens, he had already legged it over the back fence and was sprinting into the woods, using only the glow of the almost-full moon to guide him. As much as Stiles cared for Scott, there was no way he could stay to explain anything.

He had called emergency services claiming to have heard a gunshot near the Sheriff's house, apparently he needn't have bothered as they had already got several reports of loud arguments and gunshot sounds from concerned neighbors nearby.

The damage caused by Scott was clearly not from any gun, anyone inspecting the scene with a brain could see that. The collision of Scott with the tree would be impossible to explain, and if Stiles had stayed around eventually his dad would've used his guilt trips on him until his disappointed look of doom appeared and Stiles would break down and tell him everything.

He knows he should tell him Dad, especially about his magical powers. But doing so now would alarm him and cause more trouble, especially if he linked Stiles magic with killing Scott, which is a completely justifiable link, since his magic was the culprit.

Stiles slowed to a walk, gulping down air and panting heavily. The drop in adrenaline coupled with the fact he could barely see where he was going now that the woods were cutting out most of the moonlight forced him to slow down. 

His mind was racing as it tried to go over every possible scenario, trying to find a possible miracle solution that made all the problems go away. He wasn't succeeding. The only way to stay out of it all, was to be conveniently missing, the problem however is being conveniently missing. He was already cold and shivering, having forgot to put anything on more then his shorts and shirt.

Where could he go? He has no where. No friends and no family to run to. Hell, he doesn't even have a casual acquaintance that would offer him shelter against him probably dying out here. Most of his class-mates would likely just shut the door in his face after telling him to get lost and stay lost.

His Dad would've certainly had heard about the multiple reports of arguments at the Stilinski residence followed by a gunshot. First thing he probably did was to try to call Stiles and make sure he's alright. The fact that his phone had long since died after he used it as a flashlight was going to make his Dad outright panic. The only redeeming factor was that he oblivious to the recent tension between the two best friends and would never jump to the conclusion that Stiles was involved in – or would run away after – killing Scott.

There was no way Scott would have survived that, the sheer amount of blood coupled with the undeniable head trauma meant that even if Scott was somehow saved, he would probably be in a coma, brain damaged or paralyzed. Either way, Scott's previous life was certainly over and he would never forgive Stiles, and Stiles was pretty sure he would never let Scott forgive him either. He deserved everything he got, and if Scott woke up and pointed fingers at Stiles, well he really couldn't blame him for that either.

No matter what happened, Stiles was screwed. 

At least he was already receiving the punishment he deserved by being cold and shambling along in the middle of the night. Hell, maybe the world would make itself right and just freeze him to death, he didn't belong here anymore after what he's just caused. Going back to civilization, back to life, would just cause more problems for everyone.

Stiles was sure now. This 'gift' as he had originally called it, was really a curse. His mother had let it take her into it's darkness, and Stiles was only delaying the inevitable and hurting everyone he cared about by not letting it do the same to him.

What about the next time he got angry at someone, would he blow up again and destroy more people. How long until someone worked out that he was a freak and put him down? Or sent him to a laboratory to be poked and studied? 

He could already feel the spark in his mind, throbbing and burning, demanding to be touched. It would be so easy to just give into it, to tap into it and let it consume him and burn himself out.

Stiles sunk onto his knees, he rubbed some dirt out of his right eye and his hand came back wet. Apparently he was crying, though he could no longer feel the pain. He couldn't feel the cold, damp ground beneath his legs. Couldn't feel the shuddering sobs that tore out of him. He was empty inside and had nothing left. 

Flashes of Scott came through his mind. Warm images of Scott laughing, happy and joyously like he never would again and they tore through Stiles' heart like barbed wire. Stiles desperately begs the flashes to stop, but the horrifyingly beautiful memories remained.

With a despaired cry he let himself be subjected to the memories. He deserved to know everything that he had taken from this world, he deserved to feel this. He deserved to slump forward onto the cold grass that he couldn't feel. He deserved the darkness that finally reprieved him from his torment.

He deserved the black soul-less eyes that engulfed his soft, wet, honey ones.


	14. Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit Sex  
> Warning: Triggers for Non-Consensual Sex (See End Notes)
> 
> Chapter can be skipped with a short summary of proceedings in the chapter notes for the next chapter.

The sun viciously assaulting Stiles' eyes when he wakes up seems to be a reoccurring theme in his life. Still groggy from blissful lands of slumber, he bore a few moments of peace before the events of last night came crashing down upon him.

At the realization of this new knowledge, Stiles suddenly found himself waking up in a relatively-uncomfortable and yet still there bed. After passing out in the forest, waking up in a bed, in a room, in ostensibly a house was a very peculiar sensation.

Eyes adjusting to the light, he took stock of his surroundings. A thin mattress lying on the ground, thinly separating him from very old, very dirty wooden floorboards. The room was decorated minimalistic with dilapidated and burnt items. There was even a hole in the wall several feet away, leading to another dismal room.

Though waking up here was certainly an improvement upon waking up cold, frozen or dead in the forest he decided to be thankful before promptly freaking out over whoever stumbled upon his near-dead body and carried him to their ruined house, and probably even their personal bed. Whoever lived here was most likely a squatter.

Either way, he should get the hell out of here, but in order to understand where here was, he most likely needed to speak with the person who carried him here. And that was going to be an interesting confrontation.

Rising from the bed and doing a quick body check for injuries or missing kidneys, Stiles decided everything was more or less where it should be and proceeded to exit the room, sparing a second to tidy up the bed a little. He did owe the person who scarified what was probably their only source of comfort at night, not to mention saving his life, and he wasn't about to be a slob and rude in return.

Quietly opening the door, or at least as quiet as an old squeaky door could open, Stiles peered out cautiously into the hall. Looking left and right he noticed several things. To his right was a ruined kitchen, a single blackened pot on the stove and not much else. To his left contained what he could determine to be the front door.

Giving a quick shiver at the cold, Stiles moved towards the door, reaching for the handle when he was startled by a deep rumbling voice behind him.

“You're an idiot.”

After Stiles recovered from jumping a solid half foot in the air, he turned around, flailing wildly until he saw the man – his rescuer. Stiles heart sunk as realization dawned over him as he recognized the man's identity.

Creeper man, or apparently Derek, as Scott had called him last night.

Stiles was speechless, a thousand scary thoughts rushing through his head. Derek, the creeper from the forest yesterday afternoon. Where he pinned Stiles against a tree and sniffed his hair. What a weirdo. Then he actually had the audacity to tell Stiles to leave HIM alone. Yup, definitely sound logic there considering who was pinning whom to a tree.

As Stiles stared openly at Derek, heartbeat racing, he stayed in silence so long that Derek got annoyed and continued.

“Don't go into the forest at night.”

And apparently Derek also had the vocal range of an old Nokia phone, considering he was just glowering, jaw clenched in annoyance and voice coming out in monotone disapproval. Like he was duty bound to tell him not to die, but couldn't care either way.

The problem with that theory is that Derek had obviously cared, at least enough to carry him home, and give up his bed for him. He had also let him sleep in instead of kicking him out as soon as daylight broke. Now he was trying to give him advice, although in a really, really terrible way.

What Stiles had previously labeled a pedophile serial killer, was actually a terrible judgment call. Derek had warned Stiles to leave him alone, he must have had his reasons for that too, and by the clench in his chiseled jaw, Stiles was started to realize a whole different reality: Derek was hot.

As Stiles' eyes dragged from the top of his molded jet black hair, down to his bulging and defined muscles showing through the tight fabric. Drifting down further across a decent bulge, he allowed his eyes to flick back up, noticing the faint pink blush that Derek was now sporting across the tip of his ears. Stiles wasn't naive enough to not know that checking him out had caused that.

Stiles opened his mouth, and words that were not his came out.

“If it lands me in your bed, I might just have to do it again” Stiles' voice said, huskily dark and full of promise.

As Stiles felt his eyes grow cold, Derek sucked in a breath and his whole face shifted to fear as he backed away a step. However Stiles moved forwards undeterred, even spurred on a little by Derek's fear.

Derek continued to back up until his back pressed against the wall, and then Stiles was rushing forwards, halting merely a ghost of a breath away as he caged Derek against the wall. Derek's eyes were open and wide and scared. Scared of this skinny little boy called Stiles with black soul-less eyes and a smirk that demanded caution.

His dark eyes pierced through the veil of rage surrounding Derek, and Stiles' eyes were assaulted with his emotions. Thin sharp swirls of fear twirling and spinning around thick inky gray swirls of hopelessness, all obscured by the massive thick blunt ropes and bands of lust and pure want. Stiles couldn't tell whose they were, but it didn't matter anymore.

As Stiles captured Derek's mouth in a sundering kiss, he could feel the power, the strength of Derek's will breaking and crumbling, and Stiles continued to devour the delicious specimen of man presented to him. His mouth moving and roving across the warm flesh, conjuring deep raw moans of pleasure from Derek's mouth.

Stiles waited patiently while his body and his darkness were occupied by the throws of passion, Derek having long switched from passive receiver into swallowing Stiles down and causing his own body to divulge guttural moans.

He reached into his mind and was devastated by his condition, the darkness no longer waiting in the corner, it had completely consumed him, but Stiles still saw his tiny spark, blinking out of existence, barely holding on.

Connecting himself to his spark, but instead of drawing power out of it and selfishly using it, this time he would do the opposite, give himself and his energy to his spark. The energy that was currently being generated and drained from Derek and his own Darkness. Stiles knew he had no other choice, no other moment of opportunity and he spared only a quick thought to Derek before he started pouring their combined life force into the spark.

The darkness was still too busy, too occupied with Derek's wicked tongue and warm, wet mouth. Too occupied with the brilliant sensations, of the tightening of his body, the burn of being so close to release it didn't even notice itself being drained dry.

As Stiles came into Derek's mouth, him eagerly swallowing it down and coming back for seconds, the darkness took only moments after his blissful post-orgasm state to notice it was dying – and fast, but it was already too late. The darkness could only watch as it was pushed and shoved back into the corner of Stiles mind, too weak to consume it again. It would need to wait, like it had before. Wait until Stiles was weak again and then it wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Stiles felt his eyes warm as they returned to their honey hue, and the sight and sensation of Derek's mouth still lapping and suckling at his receding erection was phantasmagorical. As Derek noticed Stiles change in demeanor he let the deflating penis leave his mouth with a soft pop and looked up into Stiles' eyes.

If Stiles was expecting to see anything near lust or curiosity, he was so wrong. Derek looked furious and horrified, and this was so close to another recurring theme in his life Stiles almost let out a laugh. What a shock, another person who had sex with Stiles that hated it, blamed him for it and will probably spend the next 10 years punching him and telling him he wasn't gay. Well at least he hadn't accidentally killed Derek yet, not that it looked like he would get the chance since Derek was staring homicidal eyes into Stiles'.

Derek opened his mouth, and spoke softly but harshly and firmly.

“If you use your power to have sex with me again,” Derek paused, and leaned in closer “I will rip your throat out,” another pause as Derek bared his teeth at Stiles, “with my teeth.”

And yes, Stiles can definitely understand why Derek might think Stiles unfairly abused him but it wasn't Stiles, he was just as much the victim in the situation. He didn't even want to have sex with Derek. Okay, so that was a lie. But he definitely didn't want to have non-consensual sex where he was possessed.

Derek wasn't blinking, glaring sharp daggers of death into Stiles waiting for confirmation of understanding.

Stiles nodded slowly, not wanting to aggravate Derek further. He opened his mouth to try and explain what had just happened, because clearly they needed to talk. Derek had accepted so easily that Stiles had some sort of power, maybe he even knew more about it then he himself did. Also he kind-of needed directions to town, or maybe even a lift, though that was probably way off the table now.

As Stiles avoided Derek's sharp gaze, he accidentally glanced towards Derek's bulging crotch. Apparently Derek not only had an erection too, but a painfully hard one that couldn't possibly be comfortable in those tight jeans.

Derek had been very, very, very clear about no non-consensual sex. But by the way he was hovering, and glaring down at Stiles, coupled with his obvious erection that wouldn't flag down, Derek was more then completely down for consensual sex.

Stiles looked Derek but in the eyes as he reached a hand up to brush alongside Derek's torso. The muscles contracted and Derek shivered a little at the contact but made no move away from it nor glared any harder – not that that was possible.

As Stiles dragged his hand down Derek's side, feeling the muscles twitching beneath his hand, he gave a short pause before dragging his hand over Derek's belt and barely pressurizing his bulge. The action was quick and feather-light, but the effect it had on Derek was completely the opposite.

Derek's pupils blew out, eye-lids closed a little in hazed desire, a soft whine emanating from his throat and a quick short thrust of his hips seeking more contact.

Any doubt Stiles had before slipped away as Stiles clumsily maneuvered Derek onto his back and proceeded to explore Derek's body. His shirt was rucked up and Stiles was fumbling on the belt, before finally obliterating the barrier with a noise of triumph before noticing that Derek was completely without underwear. And seriously, who doesn't wear underwear with jeans – that's just.... no.

Derek seemed to get over whatever shock he'd been in, and ripped off his own shirt – wow, either that shirt was really weak or Derek was really strong - before reaching down and tugging his pants to his knees, freeing his glorious erection to the world.

Short, and thick, powerful with a red flamed head leaking pre-cum, Stiles marveled at it and was more then ready to reach down and take it in his hand, causing a hiss to escape from Derek's lips. Stiles leaned down and gave the head a tentative lick, testing and tasting to gauge how it would be completely inside his mouth.

Finding the sweetness to his liking, Stiles brought down his lips over the head and felt the peculiar sensation of rock-hard but soft and warm flesh inside his mouth. Gaining confidence he brought his mouth down and enjoyed listening to Derek's groan of acceptance. Stiles could also hear Derek's nails scraping against the wooden floor and thought that would've hurt Derek, he didn't seem fazed by it and kept eliciting deep satisfied moans.

Stiles worked the head and shaft for a while before remembering the hours of research he had poured into head jobs and attempted to hollow out his mouth and suck. Apparently this was the perfect thing to do as Derek's hips stuttered and he let in a gasp of air. It only took two more strokes and another suck before Derek's body tightened and clenched and throwing a long pleasured moan to the air as he came inside Stiles mouth.

A little startled at the sudden eruption, and a little off putted by the slightly bitter taste Stiles pulled off Derek's dick quickly and continued to jerk him off through his orgasm until his body tensed the final time before relaxing, oozing out the remainder of his release.

Derek looked back up at Stiles, eyes that had finally lost their glaring hatred and instead back to his default blank impassive with just a hint of vulnerability. Stiles released his hand from around Derek's softening member and they stayed there, awkwardly staring at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Possibly made even more awkward by all the nudity and patches of ejaculation over Stiles mouth, Derek's stomach and some on his chin.

Stiles didn't know how to reconcile anything in this situation, the last half hour was even more unapproachable then his wild night of drunken sex with Scott. All that he knew, was that from Derek's expression, he wasn't angry, he was scared. Scared of what Stiles could do and how powerless Derek was to stop it.

Stiles needed to get back to civilization though, so he rose and dressed, leaving Derek laying still, observing Stiles and waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the darkness inside him to come out again and control him or kill him for fun.

As Stiles finished dressing, he looked down to Derek and asked him, “How do I get back to town from here?”

To Derek's credit, he didn't falter as he replied. Softly, cautiously, patiently. “Follow the driveway to the main road, then left.”

When Stiles started walking away he saw a flash of relief and a short puff of air escaping Derek as he realized he was no longer a threat and was simply leaving. That however made it all the more surprising as after Stiles turned away, Derek sprang to life and connected his fist with the back of Stiles' head. As a bloom of pain entered the back of his mind and darkness closed around his eyes once again as he slumped forwards, he found himself caught easily by strong arms, with only a whisper of “Sorry” to accompany him into the land of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:
> 
> Non-Consensual.
> 
> Stiles is possessed by his darkness and engages Derek in sex. His possessed self amplifies passion already there into irresistible lust. (Both wanted it, but neither in control of it)
> 
> Another region of Non-Consensual has Stiles fully coherent and not-possessed but Derek still bound by irresistible lust.


	15. Chained

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped last chapter due to triggers or the explicit sex here is a brief summary:
> 
> Stiles lost control of himself to his darkness and proceeding to manipulate lust that was already there with Derek to have sex. After the haze of emotions faded for Derek he waited for Stiles to turn around to leave the house before pouncing on him and knocking him out. Derek was really pissed at being emotionally manipulated by Stiles' power.

Stiles awoke to throbbing in his head, cold steel constricting several limbs and a sore ass. He briefly reflected on waking up in a warm, soft bed with sun glaring in his eyes wasn't so bad after all.

He let out a grunt as he stirred, trying to wrestle with exhaustion as he opened his eyes to explore his surroundings. He wasn't particularly surprised that Derek had whacked Stiles over the head, but Stiles seriously didn't expect to wake up, tied with thick steel chains to a wooden chair in some sort of basement with concrete walls.

Honestly, he wasn't really expecting to wake up at all, maybe even hoping he wouldn't.

Room free of the kidnapper Derek, Stiles decided to begin testing the strength of the thick chains, by pulling, pushing and generally struggling to work out if there was any give and where it was. Stiles quickly came to the conclusion that he was a little bit screwed. Or maybe completely and totally screwed.

What plans did Derek have with his immobilized body, deep down in a basement where his screams and yells would be unlikely to be heard by anyone. That thought sent a shiver of fear through his spine as he contemplated the different ways that this would end. None of them seemed to be very good for Stiles, in fact he couldn't think of a single way he was going to get out of here alive.

Even if he tapped into his spark and threw Derek into a nearby wall, it would only serve as Stiles' death sentence as he slowly rotted away, still tied down to a chair. There was no possible way his power could manipulate the chains enough to free himself, so that option was decidedly unattractive.

Stiles started channeling his spark anyway. If Derek comes down here and tries to hurt him or kill him, he wasn't gonna take it lying down, he was going to fight back even if it killed the both of them.

Stiles perked up a little when he heard the soft echoing footsteps enter his small room. The door opened with a terrible screech that pierced the silence and bounced off the walls causing mayhem to his ears. Derek stepped inside, following him was a face Stiles had never expected to see. 

Scott.

Stiles eyes went wide as saucers, mouth hang open as he was frozen in shock. Scott not only was alive, but he looked fine, barely weathering a scratch or scar from the accident barely a day ago. It wasn't possible to heal that fast, Scott was seriously injured, probably even fatally so. And yet here he was, staring back down at Stiles, eyes narrowed in suspicion and hatred.

“Y.. You.. you're.. alive” Stiles stuttered out, voice carrying his disbelief perfectly towards Scott.

Scott's face morphed into the perfect dead-pan face as he snarled back.

“No thanks to you, Stiles”

Scott's voice raised in almost a question at the end, as if somehow not sure whether Stiles was actually Stiles, or a very accurate impostor. Derek just stood there, face impassive and rolled his eyes.

“You wanna help me out of these chains now bud?”

Stiles spoke towards Scott, hoping the easy camaraderie would persuade Scott he was still fully, 100% Stiles, and release him from his steel prison of cold and uncomfortable proportions. He was also indirectly speaking to Derek, hoping he had a shred of decency left.

“Not until we know who you are.” Scott spoke, only a small tick of anxiety showing through his facade. 

Suddenly Stiles understood. They thought he was possessed, and by the way he was acting maybe he was a little bit, but right now he was definitely just Stiles, and he was completely done with all this weird bullshit, like Scott's miraculous healing.

“Look, Scott. I can explain.”

Derek folded his arms, one eyebrow cocking up slightly in mild curiosity. Scott's face was wide, as if he suspected Stiles wasn't quite himself but didn't believe it until Stiles had made that small concession. He face was still open, and honest and listening as if hoping that Stiles had a good enough explanation, but not really expecting it either.

“Remember that first night, on my birthday. Where I destroyed your room? That's when it all started. I've never gotten that angry before, so my powers hadn't triggered yet.”

Scott raised a dubious eyebrow. 

“Powers.” he dead-panned.

“Exactly, Scotty. I could suddenly see every emotion from everyone around me, they're beautiful Scott, like dancing lights and fireworks. And if I concentrated hard enough I could even move shit around!” Stiles exclaimed, finally excited to be sharing all this with his best friend.

“And where's the power where you can manipulate guys into having sex with you!?” Scott demanded, eyes grown cold, angry.

Stiles cringed and took a moment to work out his explanation. Now was a bad time to not use his word filter. Scott looked like he was on the edge of hitting Stiles again and leaving him there. Stiles wasn't confident Derek would rescue from his chains either. So he worded it very carefully.

“I didn't know back then Scott, all my powers were new and I couldn't control them. I think I can do more then read emotions from people, I can also give emotions or amplify existing ones.” Stiles spoke slowly and earnestly, begging with his eyes to make Scott believe him, and giving him an out for his own emotional turmoil too. Scott's eyebrows went up as he considered what Stiles was telling him.

“Maybe you were just drunk and horny, not towards me specifically but I tapped into it and amplified it and I was just there and willing.”

Scott looked up, mouth opening in realization and relief pouring over his features. The clear relief on Scott's face caused a sharp and bitter betrayal in Stiles, but he could worry about his friend's self-acceptance when he was free of steel chains and in bad need of a long shower.

“The same thing happened with Derek, I honestly had no idea what I was doing or causing. My powers didn't come with an instruction manual.” Stiles face fell, accentuated a bit by acting more sad and depressed then he was. “I wish I could do it all again, I would never have taken advantage of you guys like that, and I wouldn't keep this a secret from you either.”

Scott's face snapped down to stare into Stiles, his posture slightly uncomfortable as Stiles continued.

“Best friends don't keep secrets from each other, right bud?”

Now it was Scott's turn to cringe and look away guiltily. Stiles knew he was keeping something secret, maybe he was even fooling around with Derek. It sounds ridiculous, but it's the only thing that could possible explain how Derek convinced Scott to come down into a dank old basement to talk with Stiles.

Derek took the moment of awkward silence to posit a new line of interrogation.

“Your eyes turned black several times.” he accused, still glaring, trying to intimidate Stiles into faltering. Stiles silently thanked his father for teaching him how to stay cool during an interrogation.

Stiles didn't even miss a beat when he responded. “When my eyes turn black it means I'm now longer in control and my power is.” He was quite sure of the truth in that. He continued, wanting everything out and open now that he started. “I only lose control when I use too much power at once. Like throwing Scott back into a tree.” The last part of the sentence had a hiccup of raw emotion. Stiles was still unsure on how Scott survived.

Scott seemed just as uncomfortable as he was before, maybe even a bit more now. Apparently his miraculous healing was just another part of a big secret Scott was keeping from Stiles.

Scott blushed and muttered sheepishly, “I kinda deserved that.” 

Stiles threw a grin towards Scott, hopeful that he was going to be let out of his chains soon. Derek didn't look completely convinced yet, but his impassive face had moved a more accepting face, with a few subtle changes in eye-brow positions.

Stiles contorted his face into the best puppy-dog expression he could manage without looking ridiculous or constipated and proceeded to beg Derek. “Can you please,” throwing in an extra pout for good measure, “get me out of this chair, it's really not comfortable you know.”

Derek's face took a moment of exasperation before rolling his eyes and walking behind Stiles. After several minutes of clanking steel, Stiles felt the chains give way and he rushed forward to freedom before coming to a jarring halt by a fist closing around the back of his neck.

Derek moved closer to Stiles' ear as he spoke his deadly sharp words, “Lose control again, and I won't bother tying you up next time.”

Stiles gulped audibly, nodding his head before being released. Looking towards Scott, finding his posture to be awkward and forgiving, Stiles threw himself into Scott's arms and they shared a bro hug made of awesome.

Stiles eyes watered a little as he whispered to Scott, “So sorry buddy for everything. I just want everything to be normal again.” Scott gripped back just as tightly and chuckled before replying with a simple, “Me too.”


	16. Sunshine

Stiles slowly opened his bleary eyes, already bracing his body for cold steel, for bright sun in his eyes, for emotional turmoil to assault him. Yet, he felt warm and soft and safe. Even the sun seemed to be on his side today, blissfully concealing itself with layers of gloomy rain clouds.

Arriving home late last night was definitely one of the least fun conversations he's had with his father. Yet somehow after convincing Scott and Derek to let him out of Derek's basement when he was tied down to a chair with steel chains, it didn't seem all that bad. Perspective is definitely a game changer.

Apparently after Scott had been taken to hospital he woke up, and after a quick checkup from the doctors it seemed that everyone had clearly overreacted as there were only fading bruises and minor cuts on his body.

Scott had claimed that he tried to climb up to Stiles' window because no one was answering the door when he slipped and attempted to jump up and grab the ledge. He suggested that maybe he jumped a little too enthusiastically in the wrong direction and ended up practically somersaulting towards the tree. His biggest regret was that Stiles wasn't there to see it or capture it on film for what was sure to be an instant viral video on YouTube.

It was a well planned lie, clearly created to save Scott's ass just as much trouble as Stiles, covering up his super healing and all. However, the lie was a little too good, and since Stiles had always been the lie-maker, he knew for a fact that Scott didn't have the brains or imagination to come up with that. Derek must have been involved then.

Before Derek dropped him off last night in his sleek black Camaro, Stiles pointed his finger directly at Scott, speaking with a no-nonsense tone. “You. Are going to tell me everything.” He paused, allowing Scott to half nod before clarifying, “Especially whatever”, Stiles flicked his finger between Scott and Derek, “is going on there. Okay?”

Stiles was in no mood for half ass-ed answers, and only Scott's determined face and concise answer “Okay” allowed Stiles to concede for now and leave this beautiful car.

Stiles was brought back into the present by his window being opened and a figure darting through it before closing it again with a grace that seemed to defy all logic as Stiles caught the glimpses of shaggy hair and a dopey smile.

“Apparently add flawless grace to your list of mysteries...” mumbled Stiles as a greeting.

Scott grinned sheepishly, as he compressed Stiles into a hug that was far too tight. Losing the ability to breathe, Stiles choked out “Scott, need air bud” before he was mercifully released.

“Derek finally gave me permission to tell you!” Scott rushed out excitedly.

Stiles raised an eyebrow quizzically, “Since when did Derek have to give you permission for anything?”

“Since I became... “ Scott stuttered and stopped, to his credit though, it looked like he attempted a few times. “Stiles, I'm...” Scott stopped again, looking awkward and unsure.

Stiles didn't want to assume anything at this point. Even if Scott finished that sentence with “I'm gay, and totally in love with you Stiles, would you go on a date me with tonight?” It still wouldn't explain the super speed, grace, healing, or Derek's apparent control over him. Unless being gay gave people super powers these days, and wasn't that a cool thought. Stiles gave it a second and ran with it, well he did find out he was gay shortly after he got his super powers of telekinesis and emotion reading.

Still the idea was completely absurd isn't it? And yet Derek was also a fan-of-the-man, and he seemed to have super strength at least. Stiles let out a quick chuckle, well apparently there was a strong correlation already, he would have to ask Danny if he could do anything super. 

Scott gave him a hurt look, thinking Stiles had found Scott's inability to properly communicate funny. Stiles sent him a quick wince and said “Sorry, mind wandered”. Scott's exasperated look conveyed just how often and reliable this occurs with Stiles and he continued back to trying to confess, whatever secret.

Stiles grabbed onto Scott's shoulders. “Scotty-boy, whatever it is, we're bros for life. I've got magical powers, how much worse could it really be then that?”

It seemed to have the desired calming effect as Scott finally mumbled out a word. “Werewolf.”

Stiles chuckled, and waved his hand, “Think I missed that, almost sounded like you said... werewolf.” And huh, super healing, strength, speed, instant pack... Well, actually it made a lot more sense then his gays are super powered. He's still not ruling that theory out though. Not yet.

He recovered fast, barely even allowing Scott to get in a few words, trying to convince him before Stiles was jumping with excitement. “Really Scott! That is so cool! Have you transformed into a wolf yet? Isn't the full moon tomorrow night? Are you going to kill anyone? Have you already killed someone? What does it feel like?” Stiles shot question after question, Scott struggling to keep up with any of it.

“STILES!” Scott's should and hands on his face stilled him as Scott grinned spectacularly. “Can't go full wolf, only half way. Full moon is tomorrow and Derek is chaining me up. Haven't killed and it feels like my skin is too tight, especially around my claws.” Scott raised his hand where – sure enough – claws were starting to pop out, dribbling a bit of blood where they had pierced through the skin.

“Wow, awesome!” Stiles said, grabbing Scott's hands and inspecting the claws up close, touching them reverently. Scott's face changed as well, hair sprouting along his jaw, sideburns filling up. His forehead became more defined and solid, while his eyes started glowing amber. Scott moved his eye-line down and to the right, a clear sign that his friend wasn't just embarrassed, he was almost disgusted by his own form. 

All Stiles could see was more beauty. It was still Scott, but he wasn't an interesting freak like a side-show. No his features were raw power and strong. His form devoting itself to a predator and it was intimidating, it also released a warm feeling deep in Stiles gut.

There's no life where Stiles would ever let Scott get away with disliking himself, appearance or mentally, but Stiles needs to tread really carefully here and make sure Scott doesn't mistake his admiration with affection, brotherly love with sexual interest. Stiles conjured up some neutral images as Scott and plastered on a simple smile as he dropped Scott's hand.

Scott stepped back, expecting a fear reaction but getting some completely different as Stiles stepped two paces forwards to compensate. Stiles now grabbed Scott's head with his own hands, massaging his neck slightly as he put gentle pressure on tilting Scott back towards him.

As his head finally reached center again, Scott's eyes snapped to Stiles like glue, and Stiles tried to convey everything he couldn't say through that connection. “Scott, you look amazing.” Stiles let his eyes check Scott over, trying to prove his point, “Your one fine hunk of man-meat, okay?” He raised his right hand to brush over where Scott's eyebrows had been, before they magically disappeared. “This.” Stiles paused, “This just makes you look even manlier”

Scott's mouth had fallen open, his eyes lazily staring into Stiles before ducking down and watching his lips. Inside his mouth were two short thick fangs that made his mouth look too small, but added to his overall sex-appeal. Stiles couldn't keep his interest from Scott any longer, everything about this werewolf in front of him screamed sexiness.

Stiles never wanted to intimately touch anyone without explicit permission again, so he asked, very cautiously, “Is this okay?” as he brushed his left hand into Scott's cheek. Scott looked sad, and a tear had fallen over his other cheek. Stiles smudged it away with his right thumb. “Scott?”

“Derek... got me to stop being an idiot” Scott hiccuped out. “Maybe with more force then necessary” Scott mumbled out as an afterthought.

Stiles considered this, and contrary to his intense want towards Scott, he decided he had to do what was best for him. This was a huge step and it wasn't taken lightly. “We'll start slow okay? Not like last time.” 

Scott nodded slowly, but surely. He was still staring into Stiles' eyes, trying to search for the correct next move. He seemed to find what he was looking for as he slowly inched forwards and connected his lips to Stiles.

If Stiles had thought that heated kisses, full of passion and want were amazing, they held nothing to a deep slow kiss of affection and love. A kiss that gave Stiles hope for the future, a hope that everything was going to work out well after all. Stiles would rather have a hundred slow kisses then a night of drunken sex anytime.

The fact that woke up the next day, extra warm from the cuddling form of Scott, arm slung around his waist possessively and the sun obnoxiously shining it's radiant glory, seemingly approving of their union, only further confirmed what Stiles had thought. 

He was in love with Scott. 

And he thinks maybe Scott loves him back too, even if it will be a while before he says it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Scott didn't change on purpose, his heart beat was going crazy so he transformed. He stayed in control though because he was with Stiles, his anchor.
> 
> A big thanks for those who made it to the end.  
> +1 for those for left comments, inspiring me to continue and finish the story.
> 
> I want to start a new verse, see what sort of interesting stories I can create with Sterek endgame. 
> 
> If enough people request a sequel, I'd be happy to write one but it'll take another few weeks of planning a proper story-line. I'm not going to just write dribbles of fluffy Skittles!
> 
> Any questions/comments about this verse as well as explanations over certain aspects I'd be happy to answer. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
